Hit by a Farm

I almost hesitate to blog about this 2006 memoir by Catherine Friend (http://www.catherinefriend.com/HTMLBookPages/hitbyafarm.htm)  because too often in popular media, especially of the political variety, I see the words “bestiality” and “homosexuality” appear in close proximity to each other.

There is no bestiality in this book, but there is a lot of beast sex, of the sort that occurs among farm animals.  And the farm is owned by a lesbian couple.

So, let it be known from the outset that no comments associating homosexuality with bestiality, for that matter no homophobic, anti-gay comments or jokes, will be tolerated at all.  They will be immediately deleted.  Not that any of my regular readers would do that, but this is a public blog.

Another reason I hesitate to write about this book is that it recounts a life that I would personally never be attracted to.  Much as I like to garden, I would never want to live on a farm; raise, breed, feed, or clean up after farm animals; deal with their diseases; shear wool; build fences;  or do any of the other work involved in farm life.  Even the thought of a vineyard is a bit overwhelming. 

Just give me my small backyard garden and spare me the chaos, the smell, and the physical labor of serious farm life.   I enjoyed reading about it in Friend’s book, but, perhaps because she does not glamorize, sentimentalize or otherwise romanticize the farming life, I was strongly confirmed in my aversion to nature that much in the raw.  I should probably avoid working in a zoo or living in the wild as well.

Caveats aside, there is much to learn in this book about farm animals, their habits and diseases, their sounds and smells, their care and treatment.  The couple even gets a grant to compare different methods of weed control in their vineyard, which turns out to be highly educational in, perhaps, an unexpectedly negative way.   The information about what is involved in running a farm is weaved in among personal struggles; the drama of birth, life and death on the farm; and great good humor.

For the general reader, however, the most engaging part of the book may be the personal narrative, as Catherine learns to embrace her partner’s dream of owning a farm without sacrificing her own dream of being a writer.  The title says it all as Catherine, having no background or experience with farming, often seems blindsided by its full reality and more than once questions her decision to live this life.  Her own writing is frequently sacrificed to the daily, and seasonal, demands of farm work.  After fits, starts, and near failure, Catherine eventually learns, not only how to balance her own needs and desires with those of her partner, but also how to enthusiastically participate in the farm without being overwhelmed by it.

What is most interesting to me, professionally speaking, is the way Hit by a Farm transforms the memoir into a relationship narrative, which may be a distinctively modern twist on the traditional personal narrative.  We watch Catherine and Melissa struggle, not only with the farm, but also with their partnership and their distinctly different personalities.  A couple of times it looks like they might break up, but love and commitment ultimately triumph as they learn the lessons of reciprocity, equality, boundaries, and the delicate balance  between independence and an authentically shared relationship.

Just as Friend does not glamorize nature and life on a farm, she does not overly romanticize love and commitment.  The joys are celebrated, but the setbacks and challenges are unswervingly acknowledged.

As a lesbian in a relationship with a partner who is distinctly different from me, it was the relationship narrative that I found most personally appealing, for, like Catherine and Melissa, we’ve learned the same lessons they did, though not on a farm.

And each time I drive from St. Cloud, MN, where I live, to Rochester, where my daughter and her family live, I keep an eye out as I cross the Zumbro River to see if I can spot the Rising Moon Farm (http://www.risingmoonfarm.com/) up above the valley.

Samson Occom (Mohegan)

Thinking about that Arizona curriculum law (see Jan. 27 post), I wonder if I would have been able to teach the works of Samson Occom, a Mohegan American Indian (not Mohican or Mahican), in Arizona public school American literature classes.  Occom’s “A Short Narrative of My Life” might be construed as promoting “resentment” toward both white people and native people, while his sermon at the execution of Moses Paul most certainly can be read as reinforcing the inferiority of his own ethnic group.  “Oh what a tangled web we weave/When first we practice to” control!

Just as Shakespeare’s The Tempest is full of political ambiguity (see previous posts), so also may be the works of history’s victims.  So-called “oppression” studies may be more complicated than simple-minded legislators think.

The personal narrative convention was well-established in 1768, when Occom wrote his.  The spiritual autobiography, or conversion narrative, was a staple of the New England Puritans, and the captivity narrative became a popular form during the Indian Wars of the 17^th century (see Feb. 12, 2010, post).

Given the familiarity of the captivity narrative, in which Indians were represented as savages, the penning of a personal narrative by a native person could be viewed as an inherent rebuttal of the “barbaric” Indian stereotype, especially since it begins as a spiritual autobiography, recounting his upbringing as a “heathen,” his conversion to Christianity, and his licensing as a missionary to his own people.  As Occom relates his advancement as a teacher and preacher to native folk, his narrative begins to anticipate the success story, made famous by Benjamin Franklin (see Mar. 12, 2010, post).  However, Occom turns the conventionally affirmative personal narrative into a form of protest literature, noting how much less he is paid compared to his white counterparts.

“So I am ready to Say, they have used me thus, because I Can’t Influence the Indians so well as other missionaries; but I can assure them I have endeavored to teach them as well as I know how;--but I must Say, ‘I believe it is because I am a poor Indian.” I Can’t help that God has made me So; I did not make my self so.__” (original caps & spelling)

Note how his indictment of his white employers is accompanied by an apology for his ethnicity.  Thus, while his narrative might be construed as promoting “resentment” against white people and as a refutation of the “savage” image of Indians, its apologetic tone could be read as reinforcement of native peoples’ inferiority and of white supremacy.  Does the ambiguity make it acceptable to teach under Arizona law or does it expose the inadequacy and ignorance of that law?

 Occom’s execution sermon was so well received by his white audience that he was urged to publish it, which he did in 1772.  Both whites and native people flocked to hear a famous Indian preacher deliver the sermon at the hanging of his fellow tribesman Moses Paul on Sept. 2, 1771.  Angry at being thrown out of a tavern for drunkenness, Paul had laid in wait and murdered the next person to leave, who turned out to be a prominent white citizen.

Occom’s sermon conforms to the standard pattern of text-propositions-application.  What is unusual is that when he gets to the application, he speaks separately to his different audiences—to “My poor unhappy Brother Moses”; to his white superiors, “reverend gentlemen and fathers of Israel”; and to his native listeners, “My poor Kindred.”  His sermon thus becomes a rhetorical case study as he adjusts his message and his style to each audience, acting as a minister to Moses, calling on him to repent and save his soul; as humble servant to the white clergy, calling on them to bring the full force of their authority and power to fight sin and evil; and as temperance reformer to his native “brethren,” calling on them to give up the sin of drunkenness that they may be saved. 

His deference to his white superiors is noticeable in comparison to his authoritative tone toward native people.  He thereby reinforces white supremacy, and, no doubt, by perpetuating the stereotype of the “drunken Indian,” promotes “resentment” toward that race.

One of the effects of oppression is the internalization of inferiority on the part of the oppressed.  Thus their writings may reinforce their own oppression, even sometimes in the same text in which they protest it.

Arizona’s short-sighted curriculum law does not even begin to appreciate the complexities and ambiguities of what they seek to prohibit.

Infidel

If you are an anti-immigrant, anti-Muslim, anti-mosque-at-ground-zero type, you will love this 2007 autobiography by Ayaan Hirsi Ali. If you are a liberal, progressive believer in cultural diversity, religious freedom, and inclusion, as I am, you may find yourself sorely challenged.

Presented as a personal narrative, Infidel tells the story of Ali’s Muslim upbringing in Africa and Saudi Arabia, including her genital “excision” as a child; her abuse from both mother and grandmother; her subordination as a woman; her treatment as a sexual object on her wedding night; her escape from an attempted forced marriage (after her previous one was ruled invalid); her education and liberation in Western Europe; her co-creation of the film Submission, protesting the treatment of women under Islam; her escape from death threats, and her continued life under armed protection from those threats.

The title of the book focuses on Ali's identity as a Muslim who has renounced Islam as both a religion and a culture. In much of the narrative, however, she portrays herself as a victim of Islam who vacillates between submission and resistance before “converting” to a Western cultural identity, embracing political and religious freedom, women’s equality, and secular education.

As a convert to Western culture, Ali claims that, based on her experience of both, Western culture is superior to Islamic culture. She then goes on to directly challenge Western cultural relativism and tolerance of practices such as female genital “excisions,” forced marriages, and honor killings based on respect for cultural difference.

Is Ali’s experience under Islam typical or does she generalize her narrow experience to all Muslims? Why does she paint Islam in such extreme terms as a violent and backward religion, despite exceptions documented in her own narrative? Why does she discount the presence and power of moderate Muslims? Is she exacting vengeance for her own ill treatment by her family or has her experience in the West liberated her from the mental shackles of her upbringing? Are Islamic and Western cultures merely different but equal, or is one superior to the other, as some adherents of each would claim? Is there middle ground between absolute claims of cultural superiority and relativistic claims that there are no moral values that transcend religion and culture?

Regardless of how one answers these questions, Infidel will lend credibility to anti-immigrant, anti-Muslim, anti-mosque-at-ground-zero sentiments and sorely challenge liberal, relativistic, culturally inclusive world views.

In terms of literary value Infidel is not one of those non-fiction prose works written in a literary or poetic style. Generally servicable and rhetorically effective, the writing seems less literary than one might expect from a personal narrative, with all the expressive opportunities that that form allows. While well-written, the book seems more focused on information and persuasion than on expression or imaginative literary display.

The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin

Speaking of the American success story (see previous post), Benjamin Franklin's Autobiography is a classic of the type.

Franklin was one of the first to secularize the American personal narrative, which, whether it took the form of historical adventure (Columbus, John Smith), spiritual autobiography, captivity narrative (see post on Mary Rowlandson), or travel narrative, until the 18th century could not be separated from the religious world view.

While Franklin somewhat perfunctorily invokes the "Creator" and "Providence," his primary focus is on material success in this world, not salvation in the next. He quite explicitly proclaims himself a Deist, not a traditional Christian, and seems to view morality in practical, utilitarian terms, rather than in terms of divine command. He offers himself as a role model and his autobiography as a kind of self-help book for those who want to emulate his success. And success is not the result of God's grace so much as the result of one's own efforts. "God helps those who help themselves" is one of the maxims in Poor Richard's Almanac.

As one of the first, now iconic, American success stories, Franklin establishes the classic formula: poverty and obscurity--hard work and virtue--opportunity--wealth and fame. Franklin did not actually start out in poverty. He was born to a middle class family and was apprenticed to his older brother, a printer. He ran away, though, and did start out in Philadelphia with no home, no job, and just a few pence in his pocket. From there he rose to become a successful businessman, writer, inventor, civic leader, and eventually delegate to the Constitutional Convention and ambassador to France. And, yes, he was very hard-working and ethical. However, he also was very lucky. His Autobiography records as many coincidences in his favor as it documents his work ethic.

As for virtue, he confesses to having frequent "Intrigues with low Women that fell in [his] Way." His "Project of arriving at moral Perfection" is, perhaps, the best known part of the Autobiography. It is a masterwork of subtle satire, revealing both his moral seriousness and his tongue-in-cheek mockery of moral seriousness. What could be less humble than his precept for the virtue of humility: "Imitate Jesus and Socrates"?

The autobiography is a literary form that allows writers to present themeselves as they want to be seen rather than as they truly are, though a certain amount of candor is necessary to establish credibility. And Franklin is very successful in creating an image of himself that has stood the test of time.