5/18/2015

Hot Off the Press : Madeline Kahn Bio






My childhood friend Bill Madison has a new book out, a biography of Madeleine Kahn.  I would tell you how fabulous it is, but you’d never believe me, because he is my adopted brother and naturally, I am proud of him. So here are some of the many rave reviews: you can decide for yourself.







"Madeline Kahn: Being the Music, A Life" (University Press of Mississippi), by William V. Madison ... tuneful bride in "Young Frankenstein." Yet Madeline Kahnoften didn't seem to appreciate her comedic

May 04, 2015 02:22 PM Story from Entertainment DOUGLASS K. DANIEL Associated Press, ABC News



On Creating a New Identity

 




     Writers living on the fringes of the nation-state in global border zones do not always feel that their identities fit within the core of the mainstream societies in which they physically exist. As societies grow and change, a certain artistic rigidity takes over in terms of cultural identity and the creative nexus often shifts away from the dominant foci of an aging civilization to the dynamic fringes of those “parent” cultures. It is within these border zone fringe regions, whether physical or intellectual, that writers address issues related to being dispossessed from the mainstream, and how this fact both marginalizes yet simultaneously fuels their creative self-concepts, forging a new identity that is fueled by imaginative creation. The issues involved in creating a new identity are explored by a diverse array of modern global writers, authors such as Amichai, Nafisi, and Salih, who write from various regions of the world: Israel, Iran, and the Sudan respectively; and include Mexican-American writers closer to home such as Anzaldua, Martinez, and Santos as well. This diverse group of writers explores how a modern global individual’s quest for identity is shaped by aspects of location, tradition, hybridity, and the creative process. Each author offers up a uniquely individual answer to the question: How does the modern response to globalism shape an individual’s local, personal quest for identity?



The Role of Location in the Forming of Identity
     Location is the starting point for this artistic dialogue in the quest for forming a unique and diverse identity. Whereas in the past, members of a cultural group were bound by the limitations that culture, religion, ethnicity, travel, finances, and historical geo-political movements placed on them; today individuals can fly around the globe in a matter of hours and communicate across the world via the internet in only minutes. Media-scapes now move past the boundaries of the nation-state and flow into all corners of the planet, often reinterpreted in various diverse regions in surprisingly new ways. In many parts of the world, people feel freer than at any previous historical time to consciously create a unique, multi- dimensional personal identity that combines aspects of cultural, ethnic, religious or gender-oriented traditional identities.  It is within this context of “anything is possible” that the search for local meaning, played against the backdrop of a global stage, causes modern writers to search for new metaphors to construct identity. Hall posits that “to return to the local is often a response to globalization” (King, 33). This issue of how the local environment evokes and shapes individual identity is explored in a variety of different literary works, with a surprisingly diverse set of answers.
    The simple love story encapsulated in Demetria Martinez’s novel Mother Tongue reveals how individuals, try as they might, never truly escape the lingering effects of global conflict, no matter where they may go, physically. The hero of her story, Jose Luis Romero, flees the torture and conflict of his native El Salvador for the peaceful safety of Albuquerque New Mexico, only to find that the horrors he has experienced in his former nation-state continue to haunt his dreams and his body, impacting his relationship with Maria, the heroine. No matter how hard he tries to start over in his new life, getting a menial job to pay the bills while continuing the political activism for his homeland that gives his life meaning, the violence he has experienced previously trickles down through him into his romance with the naively simple woman in his new country who tries to heal him. Jose Luis lashes out, although he does not mean to, harming Maria, before he ultimately flees a second time, fearing for his own safety. Originally a unique individual who was studying to be a priest, Jose Luis’ past life which constituted his personal vision of “the local” as a seminary student in El Salvador, dissolves away into a present identity that is continually and forever shaped by the global consequences of the war he has experienced. He is from now on a refugee, a political dissident, and a victim of violence. He can never escape these versions of himself; he is a fractured individual and these parts have irreparably shaped him into the new identity he has absorbed unwillingly. Martinez offers the reader no vision of positive change or redemption for her hero; he is only able to create a new more holistic version of himself that meshes his old location (El Salvador) and new location (North America) and their attendant issues via the conception of his son, who bridges the identity gap by searching for his father’s history and heritage, and combining this quest with his own career path as an environmentalist. Martinez’s thoughts on how location and the culture and events that are tied to it affect identity offer a view that people are too much the product of their experiences, especially if those experiences are destructive. The events, people and the places we come from can never completely leave us, and individuals cannot remove the scars of the places they have been or what the past has done to them.
     Nafisi offers a contrasting view to this argument, however, that one’s location irreparably shapes one’s vision of personal identity. In her work Reading Lolita in Teheran:A Memoir in Books, Nafisi lives and work in her native Iran, even as political events during the Iranian Revolution gradually strip away her individual rights as a woman, a scholar, and a employee. The politics of the era negatively impact the lives and identities of many who live under this regime, and still do to this day. Nafisi, however, does not give in to despair as her rights and freedoms are slowly, one by one, taken from her. Instead, she pushes back against the new culture of male dominated, fundamentalist religion-based hegemony, creating a subversive all female reading group that meets secretly while continuing to study and discuss works of the now forbidden Western canon of literature. This response to global political conditions attempting to force a submissive restrictive identity onto females takes the form of the most local response possible: a small group of trusted friends, discussing and journaling privately their innermost responses to life and literature. While previously Nafisi had been a noted scholar, writer, and teacher before the Iranian revolution, she was a respected professional but one who did not yet have a global audience for her thoughts. Her strongly defiant yet intimately personal refusal to accept a limiting,  extremist Muslim vision of how she should think, act and  live her life led her to write down her experiences in this book, which once published abroad ultimately led to her leaving her native country and travelling about the world discussing these very experiences. It is as though the events she lived through and her creative response to them gave her a new identity, purpose and focus. This is in direct contrast to the characters of Martinez’ book Mother Tongue, who are forever changed and cannot escape their locally shaped, predestined identities. For Nafisi, the refusal to accept the identity the global state wishes to impose upon her provides the impetus for new thought and forging a new identity, one located in the world of ideas and transcending the physical boundaries imposed on her  in sheer defiance. As Stuart Hall writes, “I want to talk about two forms of globalization, still struggling with one another: an older, corporate, enclosed, increasingly defensive one which has to go back to nationalism and national cultural identity in a highly defensive way….and then this other form of the global post-modern which is trying to live with, and at the same moment, overcome, sublate, get hold of, and incorporate difference.”(King 33) Nafisi epitomizes this idea as she refuses to accept the boundaries placed on her by the existing society in Iran, but struggles against it in her own personal quest for meaning.
    This issue of the importance of location in determining one’s identity is further explored in more activist ways by Anzaldua in her work Borderlands/La Frontera. Anzaldua begins by tracing her ancestry through a geographical and historical route, retelling the story of the Spanish conquest of Mezo-America. The 15th and 16th century invasions and subjugation of the native peoples by the conquistadors provides an especially brutal example of global forces at work on local identities: the Spanish perpetuated a near genocide on the Aztec people, destroying their core culture as a result. The worlds of both parties were never the same again; the collision of these two cultures produced a violent and forceful blending with the few survivors who remained, which resulted in a new identity created via intermarriage and/or rape that had distinct ethnicities, languages, religions, art forms, and even cuisine of its own. Similar scenarios occurred throughout the Americas with other European nation-states, but Anzaldua chooses to draw on the Spanish and Aztec past of her own unique individual ancestry. While the Spanish attempted to create a “new Spain” in the Americas, what they did not foresee was that the meshing of their own culture with that of local peoples would produce a wide variety of local responses in the form of  new societies that ripples through the history and geography of various New World Hispanic nations and ethnic groups to this day. In many ways, hundreds of years later, the offspring peoples and cultures of this European conquest are more vibrant, and their cultures currently more dynamic, than the existing parent cultures of old Europe. Anzaldua explores her own unique creative blending of a Mexican-American identity that is not stuck in the historical past or even in the dominant form of Mexican-American culture, but instead she is determined to transcend the legacy of this cultural raping of the Americas with its attendant violence, Euro-centrism, coerced religious beliefs and male hegemony. Anzaldua feels inspired to respond to the ethnic pride and diversity movements that began in the late 1960’s and continues to this day, creating and celebrating a new personal identity for herself that is not reliant on the past or on any particular place. Adopting the use of “Spanglish” in her poetry and prose, Anzaldua flexes her creative cultural muscle by contributing artistically to a growingly popular dialect, one that weaves together two different traditions (Anglo-American culture with Mexican, as well as other Hispanic heritages in other locales, such as Miami with Cuban Spanish, etc) into a new identity that is all its own, one that transcends the borderland or any specific location in Mexico or the United Sates. “Spanglish” is just the tip of the cultural iceberg, a cultural marker that forms its own abstract media-scape border zone of Tejuano culture that can be accessed via radio, tv or the internet from New York to Miami to McAllen to Los Angeles to Guanajuato and beyond. Anzaldua, writing in the 1980’s, is perhaps a pioneer in introducing this complex and artistically rich cultural world to a wider audience, and years later it is now clear that “Spanglish” is just the gateway to open up the portals of this culture to others. The fact that “Spanglish” words have found their way into every day American speech, that Taco Bell fast food eateries (however inauthentic to a purist) exist on every street corner, even in the northeastern cities of North America, and salsa surpassed ketchup a few years back as the best selling condiment in the United States, speaks to the power of this rich and creative cultural tradition that transcends any physical local region. This is clearly a globally dynamic culture that is on the move.
     Transcending local circumstances and exploring new worlds, as well as new identities while moving towards the global, is a journey taken in a reverse direction from Anzaldua by John Phillip Santos in his semi-fictional memoir, The Farthest Home is in An Empire of Fire. This, the second book where Santos traces an initial historically based family lineage, first on one side of his parents’ genealogical tree then on the other, Santos begins his quest for identity with tales of his Mexican-American family growing up in south Texas, with homesteads and family members located on both sides of the Mexican-American border. It is clear from his personal experiences that the concept of a “border” between Mexico and the United States, so arguably important to many Anglos on the northern side of this imaginary line that roughly follows the Rio Grande, is a much more flexible, floating, relative and porous concept to those who have grown up with family histories that straddle its boundaries. When individuals trace local family history back to a time where the “border” existed much further north, before Tejas/Texas formed its own separate geo-political identity, one could easily understand why the current location of this current border seems transient and relatively unimportant to current populations who inhabit it. As Santos continues exploring the history, real or imagined, of his family, he eventually journeys to Spain in an effort to discover if he can find any traces of his collective or individual identity from that supposedly “mother” culture and land. While there, he encounters several key individuals, notably a border guard with whom he exchanges shoes in a moment of detente where both parties realize that have more in common than they differ, in spite of the fact that each claims a very distinct and locally different heritage identity. Santos also undergoes DNA testing to see just what percent of his lineage he can scientifically trace back to Spain. This produces the unexpected consequences that Santos discovers his genome contains, in fact, no Spanish blood at all; he is of 100 % Native American descent. Rather than taking this new discovery as a setback, his concept of the “motherland” still matters in an iconic, if not an actual, sense. It is from this perspective that Santos begins to move outward in his journey of self exploration, from a homeland and self- identity bound by geographical constraints into an imagined world that transcends both time and place. Much like Dante exploring the Inferno accompanied by Beatrice, Santos explores a new idealized imaginary homeland, which he calls “La Zona Perfecta”, with his imagined ancestor from the future, Cenote Siete or “C7”. Santos is thus exploring the idea that individuals can create a new self- identity based on imagined boundaries, ancestors, or histories, with no actual physical link to time or geographical place at all. He takes Anzaldua’s creative process one step further.

The Role of Tradition in the Forming of Identity
     Traditions spring forth from the nexus of specific locations, with their attendant histories, religions, art forms and culture, both local and global. Our traditions provide a scaffolded framework for individuals to begin the process of identity creation: individuals tend to either adopt them or rebel against them, but the role of local traditions in this process remains undisputed. Just as there are an infinite number of cultural traditions around the globe, so there are as many differing responses to traditions, old and new, as there are people on the earth. There is an interesting dichotomy as to how this response to tradition is interpreted, and how individuals use their unique cultural traditions as a “spring board” for self identity formation. This contrast can be seen in writers from the Old World, notably several writers from the Muslim world of the Near East and Africa, versus those arising from the New World, specifically Mexican-American cultures. Contemporary poet Yehuda Amichai, in his collection of verse The Selected Poems of Yehuda Amichai, explores traditional themes stemming from his Jewish heritage in his poem, “An Arab Shepherd is Searching for His Goat on Mount Zion”. Here he writes about an imagined moment when the religions of Judaism and Islam began, and how similar and parallel those moments actually were. The poet’s imagery, syntax, meter and diction are all drawn from similar sounding verses such as those found in books of the Old Testament; Amichai celebrates the qualities these two world religions share, which to him seem to be more than their differences. Amichai expands his theme of the universal qualities that all humanity shares in his other poems about family, children, love, weather, seasons, or flowers. Amichai’s topics and perspectives are shaped not only by the traditions of his native Jewish culture, but also from his graphically violent experiences as an Israeli who has fought in combat. The fact that daily violence is an integral part of Amichai’s personal traditions and background can be seen in poems such as “The Diameter of the Bomb”, “Elegy on An Abandoned Village”, and in his lines:
“Half the people in the world,
love the other half,
half the people
hate the other half”  (Amichai 14)

It seems clear that for Amichai, his personal traditions involve a blending of his identity as a Jewish man, Israeli citizen, a soldier, and an artist/poet with an almost calm acceptance of violence, war, hate and bloodshed as integral if destructive traditions of his daily life. This is simply the unusual, if unique combination of what he knows and who he is. The fact that he is such a beloved Israeli poet speaks to his many other countrymen who have shared similar juxtapositions, which contrast the beauty of the world around them mingled with graphic violent destruction.
     Sudanese author Tayeb Salih offers a different perspective on the value of traditions in shaping individual identity in his novel Season of Migration to the North. In this story, the main character, Mustafa Sa’eed, is contrasted with the nameless modest narrator with greatly diverging results. Both men are intelligent local village boys, given a chance through hard work and ability to move up in their imperialist Anglophone cultures, located on the fringe of the British Empire. Each boy is given a chance at schooling in the British system, and each eventually moves to London to make his way in that quintessential “hub” of the 19th century global imperialist universe. From here, though, their fates differ drastically. Mustafa Sa’eed becomes a misogynistic serial killer, who eventually returns to his village attempting to escape the law and the consequences of his previous actions by hiding out in this remote outpost, a village along the Nile River in the Sudan. He continues his dream of Empire that reflects his self concept, however, with a secret book room tucked away inside his outwardly rustic village home that is an exact re-creation of a proper English gentleman’s study, a highly symbolic lair that evokes images of power, education, domination, escapism, wealth, and the tangential nature of learning and knowledge without context.  Mustafa Sa’eed is contrasted with the nameless narrator of the story, so like him in many regards save for the most important: while Sa’eed is adrift on the global currents of humanity, learning all that civilization has to offer and achieving wealth, he does this while jettisoning the native cultural ties, traditions and values of his home and past. He is a lost man. Even when he returns to his village, he does so without meaningful local connections. He lives emotionally apart, not partaking in local traditions or family but secretly clinging to his British affectations. Mustafa Sa’eed is living in the midst of his homeland but not interacting with it, not using it to forge a new identity that is hybridized in a positive way that could provide him with a moral compass or nurture him. He is amoral and thus, broken. The narrator, who also returns to the small Sudanese village but does so to live and work and be fully connected to his past traditions, people and culture via personal human relationships to its various members, remains “centered” in a way that provides him with character, morality, direction, and hope. Salih emphasis the symbolic nature of being connected versus roaming in an errant fashion in his choice of title for this work - “migration to the north”, an image recalling a migratory flock of birds, transient, rootless, adrift and purposeless other than to feed - symbolizes those very peoples, such as the narrator and perhaps the author himself, who are located on the fringes of the British Empire and feel the push-pull towards the center to “advance” oneself (in learning or career) that is ultimately empty and self destructive, like Mustafa Sa’eed ‘s life. Salih offers readers in the contrasting character of the narrator the idea that one must flow back to the fringes, to one’s home location and culture, in order to find meaning and connectedness in identity formation, and his novel offers a cautionary tale for individuals who fail to do so.
     This is similar to the approach that Nafisi takes in her memoir, Reading Lolita in Teheran, only she uses her traditions and cultural background in more intellectually interactive way. The author describes how she was born in Iran, spent several sojourns being educated abroad in the USA and Switzerland, yet returned to Iran because it is her home, her culture, and the center of her world. Nafisi returns to Iran not only to work as a college professor but to take what she has learned, share it with others and by doing so, move towards creating something new. The novels her study group read collectively and discuss are interpreted by the members of the group through the lens of their own background traditions and experiences. The author has a particularly strong response to the novel she selectively places in the title of her memoir; many Westerners reading Nabokov’s Lolita might simply interpret it from the point of view of gender roles, male domination over women, as a depiction of pederasty, or Western sexual freedoms taken to the extreme that they ultimately destroy perpetrators as well as victims; there are countless interpretations and emphases possible. Yet Nafisi approaches the meaning of this book through the lens of her own cultural background and traditions. Through that lens, this one book encapsulates what she sees as the enforced will or domination of one over another and thus symbolic for the oppression of Iranian women by the Iranian nation-state after the Revolution. Nafisi’s love of literary debate and the traditions she experienced of academic and personal freedom prior to the Revolution make her eventually realize that her geographical home has become so hostile to her self concept that she must leave it and move away, back to the West, taking the best of her culture, learning and traditions with her as she goes. As a result, Nafisi’s new personal identity becomes not Iranian native, but that of immigrant, and she reinvents herself in that context. She is not rootless, as Mustafa Sa’eed, but continues to center herself on her home culture re-imagined in a new global way.
    The weaving of traditions into a new forged personal identity is a much less sad and more positive and creative process for Mexican American authors such as Anzaldua and Santos. Refusing to be bound by the role(s) society tries to impose on her, Anzaldua in her work Borderlands/La Frontera  uses her cultural heritage and traditions as a vast reservoir of possible identities to draw upon, picking and choosing those aspects that are most meaningful to her. Anzaldua delights in the word play available to her by having two languages from which to draw, Spanish and English, and fully flexes her creativity not only with established “Spanglish” vocabulary, but inventing some new ones of her own. Refusing to be bound by male patriarchal imagery in her traditional Catholicism, she chooses instead to study how an Aztec goddess, Coatlicu, was historically morphed into the modern Virgin of Guadalupe, and adopts her as an archetypal patron. Using this female centered iconography as a stepping stone, Anzaldua moves towards rejecting all forms of male dominated traditional Chicano culture that she feels she has grown beyond or does not truly represent her, and instead celebrates the validity of her personal identity as a lesbian who happens to be of Mexican-American culture, picking and choosing those aspects that contribute to her creative vision as poet, artist, woman, and Latina. Anzaldua is an inspiration not only to individuals from her particular ethnic group, but to anyone who feels bound in a constraining way by the traditions of their own local native culture. She provides a template for how to reinvent one’s identity, selecting the empowering aspects while discarding those that limit one’s creativity or self vision. In this way, she transcends those boundaries that seek to confine anyone by issues of nationality, class, gender, sexuality, religion, artistry, ethnicity, etc. and moves out towards the global process of what she calls “the new mestiza”, a hybrid self-identity that incorporates multi-faceted aspects of one’s traditional heritage into a wholly new and original blended creation.
     Likewise, Santos views this process as empowering; his personal explorations differ from Anzaldua’s only in time and space. Santos’ work Farthest Home/Empire of Fire takes that journey of self exploration and identity creation to a new level, first via a geographical journey, then through a spiritual, historical/futuristic, imagined journey through time. Along the way he too plays creatively with various traditions from his local family back home in Texas, all the way to a variety of local traditions in his mythic “homeland” in Spain. The fact that New World authors Anzaldua and Santos feel so free to re-invent themselves must be a legacy of the historical traditional attitudes of the immigrants who first came here, personality traits that have become inborn or part of our global “American” identities: the willingness to relocate means that at some core level, the self concept of these people was fluid and dynamic. It took a great amount of courage and powerful motivation in those earliest settlers to board a tiny ship and fling oneself into the trusting hands of an unknown sea captain for untold weeks and months on the open sea, out of sight of land; to leave all that was known in terms of family, friends, geography, foods, crops, profession, religion, culture, and way of life and just venture out into the vast universe, confident that it would all work out well at the other end of the journey. A willingness to say to oneself: “ I am no longer a ____(fill in blank: Spanish conquistador, Englishman, French woman, Dutch businessman, Italian priest, etc) but am now a person who was once from ____(nation such as Spain) who now lives on this other far shore, doing ____(new occupation).” The imagination to see oneself in that new way, and the willingness to take a risk in the process of self-creation must be an underlying characteristic of the descendants of those original immigrants, all these generations later. How else could Santos and Anzaldua so fearlessly re-invent themselves? They take joy in their new self-reinventions, and seem to find that it fuels their creative process.

The Role of Hybridity in the Forming of Identity
    Hybridity is the end product when an individual responds to various global realities and then meshes together aspects of local experiences, preferences, and traditions into a new self concept. In the modern world where individuals feel freer to explore and create new versions of themselves,  hybridity results as various diverging parts of one’s cultural traditions are blended into a unique new concept that is different from either one or the other of its parent components. A hybridized identity is not a patched up conglomeration, but a dynamic new thing unto itself. For an author such as Amichai, the Israeili poet seamlessly blends, without much visible conscious effort or psychic conflict, various aspects of his life: soldier, poet, lover, Jew, father, scholar, destroyer, and nurturer. Which identity is paramount? Which is more valued? It is not clear; none of them seem to be. The many diverse topics of Amichai’s poetry  reveal a multi-sided personality, like a tetrahedonal dice, and his self concept draws equally on his many diverse life experiences as he rolls through whatever life throws him. It is to the poet’s credit that he can incorporate all these various forces into one complex yet integrated whole version of himself. Perhaps these vastly differing parts of his identity offer up a melting pot of strengths upon which Amichai draws, as needed, in a variety of situations. Not everyone can be a poet and a soldier who has both seen and caused death so frequently and yet remain mentally balanced. Amichi channels his experiences with various forms of death and destruction as a way to sensitize himself to the transient beauty of this world, and to make anew his appreciation for the fragility of the current moment, or a tiny flower, that is sublime.
     Martinez offers up a vision of hybridity that is not as smoothly integrated as Amichai’s. In Mother Tongue, Jose Luis is a man who has experienced warfare, too and is a sensitive soul who had been studying at seminary. After the violence he experienced when he escaped from a mass killing event, Jose Luis is so scarred by what happened to him that it haunts his dreams forever. He never can seem to create a new version of himself that incorporates both his past and his present, his global (old) experiences with his local (new) life, no matter how safe he feels at the moment and no matter how hard Maria, his lover, tries to heal him via her nurturing earth mother persona. Perhaps it is because by destroying that which Jose Luis valued most, i.e. his previous family, his religious studies, and his former way of life, the globally destructive forces he has internalized have altered his self identity forever in a way that destroys him. He is unable to recover and truly heal or create a new version of himself from the pieces. For Jose Luis, no hybridity is possible – until the next generation, when his son picks up the mantle of cultural traditions from both parents and weaves them into his own hybridized (American and Salvadorian; science, and faith; old world and new) mestizo identity.  
     On the surface, Nafisi seems to ignore the concept of hybridity altogether in her memoir Reading Lolita. Her book selections for the study group are all Western titles, mostly American novels, and while the author laments the societal conscriptions she faces, she seems focused on those aspects of her life from the West that have become an integral part of her previous identity, as the bulwark of her stand against societal tyranny and the fundamentalist Islamic script for women’s identity she faces. Her love of academic discourse, philosophical debate, civil freedoms, rights of (wo)men, satellite television, books, Western clothing, food, hairstyles, and makeup, etc. is evident in her poignant descriptions of the removal of these itemsfrom her life. She chooses not to dwell on aspects of her native cultural traditions that might lend strength or comfort to her during this process, such as family, friends, religion (even if her own interpretation of it), mythic or iconic images from Persian traditions, pop culture (movies, music, etc) or any of Iran’s native literature. Nafisi mentions briefly A Thousand and One Nights but chooses not to dwell on the lead female character even though Scheherazade is a clever woman who evades death by using her intelligence to out-manipulate and thus control a cruel dominating king. The form that hybridity takes in Nafisi’s work is subtle yet provides a valuable lesson to any reader: instead of consciously choosing to create a new vision of herself by integrating various aspects of her home land culture, Nafisi almost without realizing it transforms not only herself but shines a light on a path for her students as well, through the books that they read and their responses to them. Nafisi models how to face down oppression via her actions. Using the stories and the characters from Gatsby to Lolita, the reading group discusses various strategies for dealing with oppression and confronting one’s dreams in the face of obstacles. It is clear that the discussions of this reading group provide each member with ideas that nurture their souls and give them strength to face the differing and unique challenges each member confronts. Characters such as Huck Finn get re-interpreted through the eyes of an audience very different from the readers who first encountered him, and what the women take away from these fictional lives is different from traditional Western interpretation of their meaning or importance. Huck Finn, for example, is often taught in American schools by focusing on the controversial (for its day) father –son relationship between Huck (a runaway white boy) and Jim (a runaway African American slave), or the conflict that lies in Huck’s heart between what he feels is “the right thing to do” (i.e. to help to free Jim) versus what society tells him is “the right thing to do” (i.e. to report Jim as a runaway slave). Nafisi’s reading group instead interprets this novel from the aspect of personal freedom, both for Huck and for Jim, as the two characters create their own self identities in a transient border zone that exists only so long as they are away from the confines and laws of society and are floating freely down the Mississippi River. The dialogue that ensues regarding this work and others among Nafisi’s students, with its resultant construction of an imaginative, creative, abstract literary zone, free from the constructs’ of current time, history, or place, forms the version of hybridity that Nafisi, almost without realizing it, creates – a hybridity of experience, of the creative moment, blending local and personal thoughts via global literary constructs, into a newly imagined vision of the literary time and space that transcends the actual real world geo-political time and space.
     It is important to note that for Sudanese author Salih, the role of hybridity comes at a price. His novel Season of Migration is a cautionary tale, warning against the destructiveness of self-creation without context. Mustafa Sa’eed is a man who abandons his traditional past and ties to location, family, and local culture in an attempt to re-invent himself according to some plan not authentic to himself and his hybridized background. Is he simply a stereotype of how “white men” and the dominant colonizing society view people of color, or a foil that enables us to better understand the narrator’s character? Clearly, Sa’eed forgets who he once was in his attempts to be successful in the global environment; he loses all his native traditions in his attempts to become more “English”.  Exactly why he is a broken man is not truly explored in Salih’s work – it is never clear if society is what breaks him, or if it results as a matter of personal choices gone wrong- but the reader can draw the conclusion that something is amiss. The narrator, who manages to successfully integrate his old village traditions with his new educated professional self, to take what he has learned and apply it in a new context that blends old and new traditions, is able to straddle that local/global divide in a way that does not destroy him. He survives with his identity intact. Sa’eed ends up not only with a broken self concept, but also dead, and the novel leaves ambiguous if he died due to a natural flooding disaster or whether it was self inflicted. However, people who grow up along the Nile River treat this body of water almost like a deity unto itself, with a vengeful personality all its own. However Mustafa Sa’eed dies, it is clear that fate or karma or the universe, in the form of this mighty river, has literally swallowed him up and tossed his dead carcass aside. The only part of him that remains is his library, hidden and forever isolated,  useless to others and not even current.

The Role of Creativity in the Forming of Identity
      Authors of global literature offer up a nuanced variety of responses to the roles that location, tradition, and hybridity (i.e. integrating various aspects of one’s identity into the creation of new self) play in shaping individuality in the modern world. In each of these works discussed, creativity is the integral part of the process of taking all these factors and blending them together to come up with something new. This dynamic activity not only fuels the imagination and provides ideas and material for artistic expression, as it does for Anzaldua and Santos, but the process itself contributes, in an endless looping, to their newly formed visions of self, which leads back to more new ideas for artistic expression. The creative process allows individuals to incorporate diverse parts of their unique local experiences into a blended new whole, so that they can heal their fragmented souls and turn painful experiences into something beautiful and positive, as Amichai does via the writing of his poetry. Characters who are unable to do this remain frozen, as do Jose Luis or Mustafa Sa’eed. Artists and athletes often speak of being “in the zone”, that transcendent experience where one is so focused on the activity at hand that one loses a sense of the here and now or even of the self, and instead flows into, through, and around the activity and the moment. Action and actor become one. Time stands still and details of location become irrelevant. It is clear here that in a sense, our global writers, whether Mexican Americans such as Azaldua, Matinez, and Santos, or writers from other global realms of the Near East or Africa, such as Nafisi, Salih, and Amichai , have each transcended the local border zones in which they find themselves, and move towards an artistic version of being “ in the zone”. These writers speak to issues of identity creation that refuse to be locked into a specific location or defined by historical traditions, gender shaping, religious, or geopolitical movements.  While searching for that vibrant new blending of various aspects of their unique, local realities, each author has utilized the creative process not only to form a new identity as a painter draws on a canvass, but also to develop a creative process, a mixing of media and cultures that is, in and of itself, a creative border zone that exist beyond the realms of time and place, forever in the present “now”, the moment of creation. It is easy to imagine that as the internet and mass media grow more pervasive, reaching even the most remote corners of the planet, this creative mixing of local traditions with global paradigms will continue to fuel this shift into new hybridities beyond the ones discussed here. Individuals will have so many more choices with which to draw in that identity formation, the possibilities are endless. Hall reminds us that “…the most profound cultural revolution has come about as the consequence of the margins coming into representation – in art, in painting, in film, in music, in literature, in the modern arts everywhere, in politics, and in social life generally. Our lives have been transformed by the struggle of the margins to come into representation. Not just to be placed by the regime of some other, imperializing eye, but to reclaim some form of representation for themselves. “(King 34) It is this process that leads to the formation of new self identities and the development of the creative space as border zone all its own.
Copyright 2010 K.S.Reidy









Works Cited:

Amichai, Yehuda.The Selected Poetry of Yehuda Amichai. Berkely: Univeristy of California Press, 1996.
Anzaldua, Gloria. Borderlands/La Frontera.San Francisco, Aunt Lute Books , 2007.
Appadurai, Arjun. Modernity at Large: Cultural Dimensions of Globalization. Minneapolis,      University of Minnesota Press, 1996.
King, Anthony, ed. Culture, Globalization, and the World System. Minneapolis: University of Minneapolis Press, 2001.
Martinez, Demetria. Mother Tongue. New York : Ballantine Books, 1994.
Nafizi, Azar. Reading Lolita in Teheran. New York: Random House, 2008.
Salih, Tayeb. Season of Migration to the North. New York: New York Review Books, 2009.

Santos, John Phillip. The Farthest Home is an Empire of Fire. New York: Viking Penguin, 2010.

5/07/2015

All Hat and No Cattle




In the old days, when the economy of Texas was largely based on ranching and oil, saying that a man was “all hat and no cattle” was an insult. It meant that whatever persona he projected was a false pretense, an image that tried to fake its money and status, and thus, who he really was. To be “all hat” meant this person went out and bought the biggest cowboy hat he could find and wore it to try to look (what he thought) was the part of an old-time “real” Texan. Initially this terminology applied just to social climbers and “new money” oil men ( v.s. “old money” ranchers), but later, to anyone who was perceived as fake : politicians, Yankees recently moved here, con men, hustlers, card sharks, and bounders. The “no cattle” part meant, originally, that you (and/or your family) had no ranch – no cattle, no land, no actual substantial holdings of capitol (land, livestock, buildings), and by implication, no family heritage going back generations, and no class. It meant you were a “johhny come lately” and a bounder. This expression was a deep insult if applied to you. Ironically, politicians just LOVE to put on cowboy hats whenever they come to Texas, no matter how ridiculous it makes them look. The natives would rather they didn’t. It doesn’t give them “cred”.





Above: Various American politicians wearing cowboy hats. Some look worse than others. Below, two actual Texans, both famous actors, also wearing cowboy hats:





There is a new kind of “all hat no cattle” springing up on the Texas prairies today…..the mini McMansion. “Mini” because in spite of its tall imposing entrance and overall grande pompous facade, it is actually not that big of a house, comparatively speaking. “McMansion”, because like the restaurant chain McDonald’s, these homes are everywhere, plentiful and cheap (thus defying the notion, in America at least, of a “mansion” as something expensive, rare, genteel, and notable.) Newcomers (“no cattle”) are lured into buying these homes by the notion of upper middle-class gentility that rows upon rows of these homes would seem to suggest to those who don’t know any better. Full of what is called “lipstick” (“all hat”)in the housing trade (granite countertops, two story entrance halls, master bathrooms with spa tubs), in actuality these homes are often hastily built of shoddy materials from China (drywall that crumbles due to being made of chalk, fake ”wood” laminate floors that leach toxic levels of formaldehyde, etc). Other than the master bedroom and bath, the rooms are tiny: children’s rooms that are 8 x 10 feet, dining rooms, if this house has one at all, that are the same small size. No separate living and den, only one large living area. No eat in kitchen. Often, the front lawns are only 8x10 ft as well, mere vestiges of the idea of a lawn. I’m not against sustainable, smaller homes- in fact, I am strongly for them. Anything that re-purposes old buildings, is environmentally-friendly, lets us stop wasting water on keeping a grass lawn green , mixed-use urban development – that’s what I am for. I just think the pretentiousness of these homes is hysterical. But by all means, newcomers, keep moving into them. Leave the better built older homes in stately neighborhoods for those who know.


4/20/2015

How to be a Sassy Old(er) Woman Pt 2

Now that we've addressed clothes, cars, critters and causes, its time to think about fun. One of the most fun things hubster and I have done lately was to go, with a group of about 20 friends to a honky -tonk in far west Texas, and dance. (We all stayed together at a B&B.) Hubster and I dance a poor two-step (bc I can never let anyone else lead) and the music was a mix of country and pop. We just reverted to our "old" styles of dancing (formed in the late 70's and early 80's....a little bit rock 'n roll, a little bit new wave) which apparently was quite a curiosity to the folk at this particular establishment. Strangers actually came up to us and inquired about where we had learned to dance, calling our style "unique"  - and no, it wasn't as bad as Elaine on "Seinfeld" - I just had to laugh. I didn't reply "in a bunch of gay bars back in the big city a long time ago", which was the truth. I just laughed. Who cares if we looked odd? We looked odd together. I just wish I could still fit into those size 6 leather pants I bought from North Beach.....
While I love love love the elegant ladies from "Advanced Style", I doubt I will ever be one. I just don't have the money to dress that well, I'm not thin, and I'm too action-oriented to ever look that good. My curly hair is always out of place (and this strands coming in gray are even curlier than it was), I'm sweaty, and besides, I want to DO STUFF not sit around and pose. Comfort is my goal and adventure is my plan.

You have to figure out what you want to do to have fun. Maybe knitting, playing bridge, and square dancing are your thing. Maybe you like watching tv and doing crossword puzzles. I want to be like T.E.Lawrence who died while riding a motorcycle near his home. I'd rather die on a motorcycle than in a hospital. I want to be like Gertrude Stein who encouraged young artists and created her own salon (in the French sense, as in, a gathering of writers and intellectuals who talk and share ideas, not in the small town sense, as in a place to get your hair done.) I want to find interesting, like-minded people to talk to about stuff. I want to do a wide variety of things, so that I have something to talk about. I'm not sure I can steer a motorcycle by myself these days, but I know I can steer a Vespa. "Normal" is boring. What have you always wanted to do, but never have done?
You have to get up and do stuff. If no one around you is making plans, starting things, then you make the plans. If you invite them, they will come. In the past few years I have started a bookclub, a dinner club (neighbors get together once a month and either go out to eat, or have a potluck with a theme, like "foreign vacation" or "Mardi Gras"), gone with friends to see plays, art exhibits, and concerts, booked fun trips. I created a "pub crawl" for hubster's birthday celebration (like a progressive dinner, only we went from craft brewery to craft brewery).
The big ticket item on my bucket list is travel. I want to travel as much as I can till I can't any more. I am scared by recent health problems that my travel days may not last much longer. But I started thinking: I just need to change my travel paradigm. Instead of the schlepping heavy luggage all over Europe thing - which I know I cannot do any more - I need to find other ways to get around. Rent a car. Sail a ship. The traditional thing for old folks is to take a cruise, but I hate crowds, formal dress, gambling, shuffleboard, and all that crap. Hubster and I are going to take a 10 person cruise on a sailing yacht in the Caribbean this summer - we'll let you know if it was fun, later. I just need to slow my pace, rest more often, not try to do as much. 

How to Be a Sassy Old(er) Woman Pt 1

Society doesn't really provide a script for women to behave as we approach mid-life, although there are plenty of archetypes to choose from at a more advanced age. I 'm not sure where the demarcation lies - is it 50? 60? 65? retirement? grand-motherhood? "I just don't care about conventions anymore?" "I'm retired now, I can do as I please?" "I'm pissed as hell, hear me roar?" The whole sexy-cougar-MILF thing just isn't of interest to me anymore. Maybe its due to the post-menopausal hormone drain, that leaves me feeling about as sexy as a balloon that lost all its air. I think that last surge of sexiness is something of interest to women who had their children at 20, and are now 38 with teenagers. That's the age where women start to get nervous about their looks fading; thank god I was overwhelmed with babies and diapers at that age and it just whizzed right by me as I tried to go a single day without getting baby stains on my last clean shirt.
 
Whatever the cause, I have reached the point in my life where I am quickly shedding my previous roles and concerns. Maybe what is liberating is finally, after 20-25 years, I don't have to change someone's diaper, feed them, work to earn money to care for them, spend every waking moment either driving them or else attending some function for them, giving them all my money and never having anything fun for myself, and then having the very child you slave for to turn and be embarrassed by your (extremely constrained, as normal as you can make it) self.  Ah, teenagers: God's gift to parents, otherwise, if they stayed cute and adorable like a 4 year old, you'd never want them to leave. So maybe the demarcation is when your kids have moved on to lives of their own and you are free to be as whimsical as you always wished you could be. (There's always the Mr. to worry about, your last child, but hopefully he can manage to take care of himself now and then.)
First on my list of reinventing myself at mid-age was to start at the bottom of my list (based on Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs.) After 20+ years of only having the pet the Mr and the kids wanted, I went out any got a pet for my own needs. Then I swapped out the mommy bus (aka minivan) for something a bit sportier, zippier, and luxe- hey if men can do it, why can't women? Next thing up is to consciously schedule more time with your girlfriends - because as the internet meme reminds us, the odds are likely that you will outlive your husband. You need to get some girlfriends stat to spend the last 25-30 years of your life with. Last but not least: fun clothes. I am at the point where I am working on a more comfortable, artsy -looking wardrobe , a little bit at a time.
 These aspects of reinvention, however, are all superficial. Who is your role model? What do you want to do with the last quarter or third of your life? Who do you want to be like? Mother Theresa? Eleanor Roosevelt? Tina Turner? I have one friend, Bonnie, who is an artist (yes, she actually earns a living from this) and who , in her late 60's or early 70's (she will never say) has the most energy, is the most adventuresome, creative, spirited person I know. Bonnie never seems to sleep, she stays awake all night, reads a million books, loves dancing, travel, can talk for hours on any subject and never be dull. She is in great health and has the pep of a 20 year old, and she is a great inspiration to me.
 I do know this much: I have spent a lifetime of keeping my mouth shut about the things I care about - worried about keeping my job, creating enemies, causing problems, going alone, keeping the peace. No more. I figure this is the best time, when not distracted by the overwhelming responsibilities of daily living, to speak one's mind. It is the duty of the crone (in the Jungian series of female archetypes: the maiden, the mother, the crone) or elder female to pass on the wisdom of previous generations, and to speak up when others cannot, to improve life and remind society of its values, to point out its errors, to help develop solutions. There are several versions of this speaking up, and I hope not to be the cranky old curmudgeon sort of person. Rather, I hope to be the cool granny out there, protesting and volunteering to help others live a better life. What are the causes you care about? Who else is going to raise awareness, if not you?