When reading Let Us Now Praise Famous Men, I found myself wondering how the piece could be classified. It starts off with several photographs for which Agee provides no accompanying text, and then leads into writing that is a mixture of prose, reporting, and personal interjections of the author. After reading the text, I became more conscious of the implications of photography like that of Evans. Agee delves into the moral dilemma intrinsic in a project of this nature, explaining “these I will write of are human beings, living in this world, innocent of such twistings as these which are taking place over their heads; and that they were dwelt among, investigated, spied on, revered, and loved, by other quite monstrously alien human beings” (13). I think that Evans’ photography highlights this dilemma almost more strongly than the writing itself. The text prompted me to consider the level of intimacy reflected in the photographs, and the invasion of privacy and vulnerability on the part of the subjects that is involved with that intimacy. I wondered if photography as a medium, because it depicts and replicates the situation exactly as it appears in real life, doesn’t allow for the artist to leave gaps and make room for the unknowable that Keene and Hartman advocate for. 

In reference to the less disputable truth portrayed by photographs, Agee says, “If I could do it, I’d do no writing at all here. It would be photographs; the rest would be fragments of cloth, bits of cotton, lumps of earth, records of speech, pieces of wood and iron, phials of odors, plates of food and of excrement” (13). While I agree that photographs shift the responsibility of interpretation from the artist to the viewer/reader, I wonder if they still present the issue of the ethics of a project like this in a different light. I found Agee’s decision to occasionally interject with his feelings regarding the issue to be an effective way to remind the reader to be sensitive and aware while processing the piece. When viewing the photographs, I found it much easier to look at them and immediately feel pity on the basis of unfounded assumptions fueled by my own biases. Agee’s writing, however, held me accountable in this respect. This is one of the reasons why I believe the two mediums complemented each other well.

Feminism: noun. The advocacy of women’s rights on the basis of the equality of the sexes. Equality: noun. The state or quality of being equal. Equal: adjective. Like for each member of a group, class, or society.

Where is the contradiction in this logical progression? I fail to see it, but I often feel alone in that failure. Their voices are always louder — the voices of the people who disagree. “The advocacy of only women’s rights is at odds with our understanding of equality,” he tried to tell me yesterday, as if the focus on the female was somehow offensive. “If you don’t want people to disagree with you or misunderstand what the movement stands for then you should change the name.” But the name does reflect the movement. He watched me choke on my words, and interrupted with: “It’s like… why do we park in a driveway and drive on a parkway? There you have the same problem! Ugh, drives me nuts.” I didn’t know what to say. The attempt to remedy an immeasurably long history of inequality was boiled down to an issue of pure semantics right before my eyes. It was reduced to an item on a list of “Things to Ponder” on funnytab.net, which, just as it sounds, looks like it was graphically designed by a toddler and made to give your computer a virus. “Feminism” was given the weight of a brain teaser, and I didn’t even know what to say. If I’d had the balls- … If I’d had the courage, here is what I would have said:

Women have the right to run for president. The first woman did so in 1872. But the United States is yet to see a female president. Is that equality? Women have the right to hold every position in the workplace. In fact, women make up about half of the workforce. But less than 5% of CEOs at S&P 500 companies are women. Is that equality?

Equal treatment in the way we understand has not and will not bridge these gaps. Achieving equality means advocating for women. Look inside yourself, and you’ll see why. 

Process notes:

Once I settled on pursuing the dictionary definition portion of this prompt, I struggled to pick the right word. After our first object prompt, I knew that I had to choose carefully, and that my decision would set the tone of the piece. I started out with “equality,” and envisioned a character who felt like the definition of the word was an oversimplification that lacked sensitivity for a long history of sexism in our country and the world. I was reminded of the controversy surrounding the label “feminism” and how often it is misinterpreted to mean that women should receive better treatment rather than equal treatment. While I’m not sure if this would be classified as a fictional “story” seeing that my piece is a lot less plot-driven than Keene’s, I still tried to keep tone in mind. I tried to mimic Keene’s seemingly objective perspective by incorporating facts and statistics into my character’s processing to emphasize a similar brutal, irrefutable inferiority. At the same time, I also included the more personal introduction to those facts in order to develop empathy in the reader for the narrator and to emulate the thought process of someone still experiencing these issues today. Without over-narrating, I attempted to use this story to advocate for equity over equality.

In John Keene’s “Gloss on a History of Roman Catholics in the Early American Republic, 1790–1825; or the Strange History of Our Lady of the Sorrows,” from Counternarratives, I was most struck by his vivid descriptions of Carmel’s art and art-making process. Some examples of these descriptions can be found on pages 94, 104, and 120. Before drawing, Carmel is overtaken by “a strange and powerful force” (94) that causes her to draw. In all of these experiences, Carmel loses control over her own body. “Her hand was moving so quickly she could barely control it” (104), Keene writes. I interpreted these intense episodes to be an escape for Carmel from the restrictive and systematically racist environment she is confined to as a slave. Each burst of drawing represents a release of Carmel’s consciousness and personhood that is hindered by her position in society. After Carmel finishes a drawing, she is always overtaken by exhaustion: “Her fingers cramped, loosing the nugget. She felt so spent she fell to her knees” (104). Keene’s vivid depictions of Carmel’s process effectively utilize prose to illuminate the position of a slave in a way that is educational for readers and reflective of history.

In “Venus in Two Acts,” Saidiya Hartman further illuminates the power of writing to effect social change, or at least create dialogues about social issues, in the way that Keene’s writing does in Counternarratives. Hartman explains, in reference to African narratives of captivity and enslavement, “it would not be far-fetched to consider stories as a form of compensation or even as reparations, perhaps the only kind we will ever receive.” Writing inspired by social issues has the ability to educate readers about our past and reckon with the voices of the historically silenced and oppressed. I found Keene’s Counternarratives to be evidence of this. I also found this aspect of Keene’s prose to be effective in not engaging in the futile endeavor of filling in the gaps and “providing closure where there is none” that Hartman discusses. To represent Carmel’s experience through the visceral art-making process is to leave room for the truth behind her experience to live in the writing due to what Hartman calls “narrative restraint.”

https://twitter.com/ariasagirl/status/1123681771789389824?lang=en

“any female born after 1993 can’t cook… all they know is mcdonald’s, charge they phone, twerk, be bisexual, eat hot chip & lie”

The tweet was being passed around the dinner table as each boy’s reaction contributed to the growing sea of laughter. He passed the phone to me with the expectation that my reaction would do the same. Instead I looked to the only other girl in sight — we exchanged a look, “the” look.

“Chilllll, it’s just a joke. It’s just a joke!!” He couldn’t even stop laughing as he spoke. “I’m sORrY.” There wasn’t even an attempt to mask the sarcasm. I started running through the options in my head. 

1. “Laugh with them, maybe they’ll finally let you in.” 
2. “Stay quiet, they’ll only assume what you’re thinking and write it off as anal.”
3. “Call them out, it’ll only ostracize you further. Or maybe they would actually listen…” 

I let out a scoff.

I picked at my overcooked green beans and undercooked rice while contemplating how this place had changed me. This tweet had sent me into uncontrollable fits of laughter back home. I used to love it. What was different? Coming off of a week of being chuckled at when choosing to paint my nails in favor of our usual hangouts and my every whisper being labelled as “childish middle school girl shit,” I just couldn’t cough up a laugh. 

For the world around you to make you question who you are is one of the more isolating feelings I’ve experienced. Does it make me a hypocrite to allow the circumstances to color my reaction to the tweet? Does it have to be inherently wrong — universally wrong — for it to be wrong at all? 

“I need more girls in my life.” The thought has been plaguing me since the nail polish incident. People who can understand me, who’ve been taught how to empathize because of their place in this world. But when one of my best friends says he “needs more guys in his life,” I can immediately see that he’s looking for an echo chamber. He’s tired of being surrounded by people who point out his mistakes and he’s tired of having to think so hard about what he says. 

Again, my own hypocrisy is all I see when I look in the mirror. 

I constantly let the preservation of my reputation take precedent over speaking up for what’s right. This place has made me selfish. I constantly fear the inescapable box I’ll be trapped in if I’m not careful about choosing my battles. This place has made me weak. I constantly stay quiet because repetitive, futile conversations are unappealing in the same way that running around a monotonous track has always seemed. This place has made me tired.

I used to love that tweet.

Process notes:

My goal in this piece was to use what I’ve always thought of as a harmless (even funny) tweet to depict how microaggressions play a role in gender inequality. The character’s inner-conflict over the validity of her feelings and how they changed from one setting to another is meant to represent the impact of individually harmless acts of marginalization when they combine to create a greater culture of prejudice. I found it difficult to articulate my character’s analysis of the situation through action and dialogue rather than description. I wonder if finding more of a balance between the two could have made the piece more interesting in the form of “showing” rather than “telling.” I tried to alternate between depicting the narrator’s confidence and doubt in her own beliefs to represent how these issues aren’t always black and white and how they are given power by a long history of oppression that is difficult to dismantle. 

What stood out to me most after reading Nick Drnaso’s “Sabrina” was the way in which the work highlighted the successes of the graphic novel as a medium of storytelling. As stated in The Chicago School of Media Theory’s page on “graphic novel,” a novel’s success can be found in its realism of storytelling and ability to accurately portray the human experience. I believe that the interaction between the text and illustrations in “Sabrina” made for an authentic representation of the human experience and the world we live in.

The use of drab, muted colors in the illustrations of Calvin’s home allude to the tragic nature of the situation that brings him and Teddy together before the reader is even made aware of Sabrina’s murder. The dreary colors provide a sense of the loss of hope and meaning that pervade both Teddy and Calvin’s lives; Teddy doesn’t know how to make sense of Sabrina’s death and Calvin doesn’t know how best to support Teddy while he processes the tragedy. The minimalist illustrations and measured line work emphasize a similar feeling of being lost, especially when it comes to the characters’ facial expressions. 

I agree with Lucy’s point that the lack of text across multiple panels made the grief in those scenes more poignant. For example, on page 63, Sandra’s breakdown is followed by several text-less panels. This empty wandering and the sense of hopelessness present is better represented by no words at all than by narrative description. Sandra is pictured on the floor of her home, and it’s left up to the reader to interpret her facial expressions and positioning to determine what she is thinking and feeling in these panels. This effectively begs the reader to attempt to empathize with Sandra. Overall, Drnaso’s “Sabrina” has given me a greater appreciation for the graphic novel’s ability to succinctly portray the human experience in a way that forces the reader to consciously use the tools of the medium to empathize with the characters and interpret the work.

First description, edited to replace vague words with more exact ones:

The bottle sits on a strip of glass that is approximately an eighth of an inch thick. The light shines through this strip, making the bottle look like it is atop a glowing pedestal. Bright red polish fills the inside of the bottle and a matte black cap rests on top. It is somehow neither bumpy nor smooth when I run my fingers across it. The brand “OPI” is stamped into the top of the cap. The thickest point of the cap is closer to the middle than the bottom, which is higher than I would’ve expected. The height of the cap is slightly more than that of the bottle, making it look lopsided. There is a sturdiness to the glass, and the bottle is smooth except for the inscription on the front. The light hits the high point of the glass — the hard edge created by the “ledge” that the cap is placed on. The glass is scratched along this ledge; it is the least-protected part of the bottle. There is a white sticker on the bottom of the bottle, one that you would only find if you were looking for it, that assigns this color a name (“The Thrill of Brazil”) and a number. There is something mesmerizing about the way the glass looks up close, both impenetrable and incredibly delicate at the same time. There is a certain weight and sturdiness to the way the bottle sits on the table, like you wouldn’t be able to move it even with the knowledge that if it were to get knocked over, everything would shatter, leaving behind a bloody, red scene.

Rewritten description:

At the bottom of the bottle, there is a strip of glass that does not hold polish. It is completely clear but distorts the shape of anything that you look at it through, like a magnifying glass. The polish is a solid, classic red. It’s the color that comes to mind when you think of “red” without any further descriptions or qualifiers — it’s not a deep red or a wine red or a rusty red, it’s just “red.” The title of the polish, however, makes a (what I would classify as failed) attempt to describe such a red. “The Thrill of Brazil” is printed on a white sticker underneath the base of the bottle along with the serial number “600622.” I suppose these are all ways of referring to the same object: “The Thrill of Brazil” and “600622,” simply put, just map to “red” either in our minds or in a database of sorts. The glass is entirely smooth aside from a few scratches along the edges and lettering that reads “OPI Nail Lacquer.” The bottle has a matte black cap that contrasts the shiny glass body of the bottle. The top of the cap is imprinted with the letters “OPI.” The brush extends from the inside of the cap and is saturated with the so-called “Thrill of Brazil.” The bristles, while separate, operate as a unit to drag strips of polish across the nail. The bottle stands strong atop a clean, white tabletop. I can’t help but think what just half a fluid ounce of this polish could do to the pristine surface.

Process notes: 

I was daunted by the task of writing a specific, objective description of this nail polish bottle because it seemed futile. I was grappling with how this written description could possibly give my reader a more accurate or effective understanding of the object than simply looking at the bottle or a photograph of it. In completing the exercise, I think I have a better understanding of the art of dynamic description. Regardless of whether this is conscious or unconscious, the writer’s interpretation and background will surface in their description. I suppose this speaks to why two writer’s exact descriptions of the same object can turn out so differently. The exercise showed this phenomenon in an even stronger way that was surprising to me in the sense that my own two descriptions of the exact same nail polish bottle turned out differently. Does this mean that I failed in my task of producing the most exact description of the object as possible? Or rather, does it speak to something intrinsic in the art of writing? My goal in these descriptions was not only to be as accurate and specific as possible, but to write a paragraph that could bring the object to life more-so than a two-dimensional photo could (even though it would capture the object exactly as it is). 

I was particularly struck by Italo Calvino’s observations about our current relationship with language outlined in the chapter “Exactitude” from Six Memos for the Next Millennium. He expresses his frustrations with the lack of precision and intentionality behind our words, a “plague” that extends beyond language to images and more generally to our world as well. Calvino prescribes literature as the solution to this plague.

In an age during which the internet and digital media are becoming more prevalent, perhaps at the expense of literature, I think Calvino raises an important concern. Precise language and description in writing have been overtaken by the 140-character tweet and the 6-second vine. There is a level of depth and thought that can be lost in this transition. Calvino explains that his annoyance with the careless use of language surfaces most when he listens to himself speak. This is why he prefers writing over speech: writing can be revised multiple times over until exactitude is achieved. Speech does not afford the same opportunity for revision. I believe this comparison between writing and speech parallels the same loss of exactitude we see from writing to digital media today. With the click of a button, a spontaneous thought becomes a post available for the world to see. It follows from this immediacy that digital content often lacks the thought and precision that can be achieved through writing and revising. 

I found it interesting that the issues Calvino was able to highlight in the 80s have only become more prevalent today. In our present day, the digital media presents a new layer to the challenge of maintaining the importance of exactitude. Is literature still the right tool to tackle this challenge? As our world becomes more high-speed, is it more important to consider the source of the challenge (which Calvino stated he was unconcerned with)? How do we find the right balance between embracing our new technology and developments while still maintaining exactitude?