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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:

by Quentin Lewis

Book Notes: The Ministry of Nostalgia: Consuming Austerity by Owen Hatherley

The Ministry of Nostalgia: Consuming Austerity

by Owen Hatherley

Finished 9/20/20

 

A clever and pointed look at the ways in which objects, spaces, and memory of 20th century social democracy in the UK have been transformed into contemporary commodities that obscure their political origins and content.

Owen Hatherley is a wonderfully rebellious UK architectural and cultural critic. He wrote two excellent books on modern architecture (A Guide to the New Ruins of Great Britain, and A New Kind of Bleak), as well as Militant Modernism, all of which seek to excavate the social-democratic project of post-War British architecture and politics from contemporary scorn, as well as to evaluate the architectural footprint of UK neoliberalism and New Labour.

This book builds off this previous exploration to focus attention on the recent explosion of what Hatherley calls “Austerity Nostalgia”, manifesting in various consumer goods, decorative objects, and souveneirs. He begins with an examination of the now-ubiquitous “KEEP CALM AND CARRY ON"poster, which despite being associated with the Blitz and WWII, was never actually widely distributed until the 2000s. The resurgence of this image coincided with the period following the 2008 financial crash and the beginnings of continuous conservative governance in the UK, and Hatherley argues that there was a significant cultural investment in the aesthetics of the WWII and post-war rationing eras of “make do and mend.” Such nostalgia, manifested in art, music, television, and “heritage” belies a depoliticized aestheticization of socialist or social-democratic efforts during the 20th century that created comfortable and beautiful public housing, public art and cinema, and most dramatically, the National Health Services.

Hatherley moves from Keep Calm and Carry on through various cultural dimensions of the current and the historical moments of austerity. He examines the ways in which conceptualizations of the White working class in England as a source of political energy belie the connections between class and empire in the post-war period. As a source of analysis, he examines some documentary films that play on nationalist nostalgia for the social-democratic impulses of this time. He later offers a rich and pointed tour of some of the archtiectural and historical literature which has recently been written on post-war modernist architecture, and finds it lacking in its recognition of the complex politics at play in things like the expansion of the London subway system, or the Empire marketing board, which sought to inspire the English to buy commodities from their colonies.

The book is full of little details that complicate the “make do and mend” ethos. In chapter 4, Hatherley reminds us that the backyard or neighborhood bomb-shelter, that architectural icon of British survival spirit, was a function of elite concern over rebellious politics.

“while the Labour left and radical architects were advocating communal shelters, central government had a firm preference for the privatisation of bomb protection….If big, safe, deep shelters were established, people would simply lie in them and do no work. Worse, such concentrations of proletarians could be breeding grounds for mass hysteria, even subversion.”

He touches on George Orwell’s conversation from radical socialist to conservative skeptic, the Festival of Britain and its architectural ghosts, and the public housing efforts of Aneurin Bevan. He also provides a tour of the archtiecture and exhibits of the Imperial War Museum which is snarky and entertaining.

But his ultimate point, indeed perhaps his professional thesis, is reserved for the last chapter:

In Britain today we are living through exactly the kind of housing crisis for which council housing was invented in the first place, at exactly the same time as we’re alternately fetishising and privatising its remnants…we face a massive problem for which, once, the solution was the building of well-designed, well-considered, well-planned modernist buildings, often erected on the ashes of the shoddily-designed, unplanned, badly made, profit-driven housing of the past. Instead, what is actually happening is that we’re transforming the surviving fragments of that solution into one of the main contributors to the problem, as social housing becomes the new front line of gentrification, and the architect-designed modernist flat the new loft conversion.

In short, at the same time that the post-war, social democratic built environment of Britain is being remembered and revered in art, music, culture, and archticture, it is likewise being reshaped and repurposed by Conservatives, New Labour, speculation, and gentrification around a rampant neoliberal privatization that exascerbates the problems it was erected to solve.

All in all, fascinating, funny, and clarifying book and study of place, space, power, and material things.

by Quentin Lewis

Quentin's Weeknotes 9/12/20-9/19/20

This Week:

by Quentin Lewis

Quentin's Weeknotes 9/5/20-9/12/20

via GIPHY

 Haven’t done these in a while, but it feels like time to come back. I find it comforting to take stock of my week, particularly as there is simultaneously so much happening, while at the same time, every day is exactly the same.

This Week:

 

by Quentin Lewis

Book Notes: You Should Come With Me Now by M. John Harrison

Finished 8/28/20

 

A fantastic collection by a science/speculative fiction master.

 

M. John Harrison is a brave writer. That’s the best way I can describe him, though it probably sounds trite. He writes out of a tradition of science fiction and fantasy (indeed, he was present at one of its Big Bangs–New Worlds magazine), but refuses genre fiction’s longstanding commitment to foregrounding plot. Instead, Harrison is interested (obsessed?) with how people live with discomfort, or rather, make discomfort comfortable enough that they barely notice it. Sometimes that discomfort is otherworldy, and sometimes it is entirely mundane or even unplaceable. This is a daring and difficult thing to do, certainly to do well. It also takes him to some places that are both familiar for science fiction and entirely alien to it. For one thing, his characters are rich and weary, not the dark heroes or brilliant explorers of most science fiction. You can read their entire lives in the brief sentences he writes about them. For another, alienation and chilly modernity are lurking in the background of everything Harrison writes about. Human connection, friendship and solidarity are fleeting or nonexistent to Harrison’s protagonists and secondary characters. Any outrageous, supernatural, or impossible forces they encounter end up being just an exterior barrier, a pressure acting on them.

Harrison’s prose is striking and subtle. Every sentence delights and begs more questions, as Harrison uses ambiguity and uncertainty as modes of storytelling. He’s comfortable with uncertainty, or at least with leaving his readers uncertain.  Sometimes, getting caught in the trap of genre, I found myself wondering whether I had missed the fantastical element, and would read stories again looking for a hidden ghost or alien or something else. But this says less about Harrison’s place in genre fiction and more about my need for the comfortable dictates of genre fiction.

 This collection mixes some short stories with very short flash fiction–a paragraph or two. Like most short story collections, there were stories that grabbed me and others that didn’t, so your mileage may vary. Here are few that stuck with me:

“In Autotelia” is an absurdly simple story–a minor bureaucrat goes to work in the eponymous city which is perhaps metaphysically adjacent to London, spends a mundane day on the job, and then returns home to London. For other writers, such a story would likely take place off scene, replaced with more traditional investigations of this extradimensional city, populated by people who may or may not be human. But for Harrison, the city of Autotelia becomes a backdrop for exploring questions of immigration, neoliberal accounting, gender politics, and alienation. This sits with the best science fiction tradition of the future or the otherworldly holding up a mirror to us. 

 “Entertaining Angels Unawares” is a story about two men who repair the tower of a rural chapel. As the men work, they talk about their dreams, which grow increasingly violent and apocalyptic. The ending is strange and ambiguous, with the narrator abandoning his work partner to climb the church, and wander the gravestones of the churchyard. It’s unclear whether he’s possessed, crazy, or inspired by the murderous dreams of his partner.

“The Crisis” is perhaps one of the most straightforward pieces of fantastic fiction in the collection, where an area of London has become infected with supernatural force that transforms or repels all attempts to enter or subdue it. But for Harrison, such an invasion reflect London’s increasingly inhospitable housing situation, and the story, though strange and grotesque, seemed to me to be a commentary on the neoliberal city, with its exlcusion and privatization of public space, increasing and increasingly disposable vagrant popualtion, and a middle class somewhat blithely making accomodations to all of it.

 Some of the stories are funny–“Psychoarchaeology” takes place in a future (present?) England where technology allows enthusiasts to hunt for dead and buried kings, from the comfort of their car and their fast food, echoing the furor and excitement around the re-discovery of Richard III.

I’m still enamoured of Harrison’s Viroconium cycle (and a Viroconium story, “Jack of Mercy’s” appears in this collection), and some of these stories sit with the best of that work, and as with Viroconium, deserve and reward repeat readings. This is great, subtle stuff, and well worth the time of anyone who enjoys fantastic (in all senses of the word) and engaging fiction.

by Quentin Lewis

Booknotes: A History of America in Ten Strikes by Erik Loomis

Finished 8/16/20

A rich but readable account of American labor history that is refreshingly honest about both its successes and its challenges.

Eric Loomis is a professor of history at the University of Rhode Island, but is perhaps more well known as a History blogger at Lawyers, Guns, and Money, and for his “This Day in Labor History” series. This book is a cogent coalescence of that series, which provides a periodization of American labor history using ten historical strikes to exemplify the state of labor at given historical moments. These are

  • The Lowell textile strikes of the 1830s
  • The strikes of enslaved Africans during the Civil War
  • The Strikes for the Eight Hour Day in the “Gilded Age” of the 1880s and 90s
  • The Anthracite strikes, particularly the Ludlow, Colorado coal strike and massacre at the dawn of the 20th century
  • The “Bread and Roses” strike and the IWW in the 1910s and 20s
  • The Flint sit-down strike of 1937 and the New Deal
  • The Oakland General Strike of 1946 and post-war Unionism
  • The Lordstown strike of 1972
  • The Air Traffic Controller’s Strike of 1981
  • The Justice for Janitors movement of the 1980s and 90s

The book is filled with an astonishing and interesting cast of characters, and Loomis works hard to bring to life the stories of everyday, working people and the struggles they faced. Perhaps because of his blogging, Loomis is a gifted and clear writer, and despite its broad reach, the book is eminently readable, while still being filled with plenty of wild details, and astonishing stories and quotes. Interesting and complicated characters like Sarah Bagley (who organized arguably the first Women’s Union in the US), or the story of the tensions in the Oakland General strike are rich and rewarding. And the book is full of anecdotes and details, such that I suspect even people relatively knowledgeable about American labor history will find something they didn’t know before (I certainly did).

Loomis chooses to focus on the diversity and social tensions that have run through the US labor movement. Loomis is not shy about discussing the ways in which race and ethnicity have structured and organized the forms that labor organization and class consciousness have taken in America. He follows Du Bois in seeing the Civil War as being won due to the labor action of enslaved African-Americans, and he casts a clear eye on the racism of swaths of the labor movement in the 19th and 20th centuries, with rich discussions of the AFL’s failure to organize non-white or marginally White workers in the 19th century, or the violent pushback by White workers and Southern elites when the CIO attempted to organize Black and White workers in the 1940s. There are also clear (though brief) discussions of the role of race in the election of Donald Trump and his courting of the putative “White Working Class” (though I have found other analyses more useful in understanding 2016).

More explicitly than most academic histories, Loomis is clear that he wants the book to serve as a guide for activists and political supporters of working people. He begins the book with a discussion of the recent teacher’s strikes in West Virginia, which were ultimately successful. And his conclusion argues that we “live in a new Gilded Age” of rampant income inequality and exploitation of working people. He sums the book up by arguing what he sees as the main lessons of American labor history. These are that labor wins when it focuses both on organizing and on political persuasion, that a racially diverse labor movement is ultimately stronger than a racially homogenous one, and that successful labor movements recognize the wide range of laboring activities rather than focusing on just a few (re: industrial) forms of work.

The book is a clear and digestible history, and a call to arms to make a more just and equitable society, using the lessons of past attempts to do the same. Well worth the time of anyone who wants to change the world.

by Quentin Lewis

Quentin's Weeknotes 6/6/20-6/12/20

This Week

by Quentin Lewis

Quentin's Weeknotes 5/31/20-6/5/20

This Week: