Lawler Literature: Little Women Revised

I’ll be honest. When I read Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women as a pre-teen, I gave very little thought to the patron of the March family. In fact, I gave very little thought to the Civil War that was supposedly raging around the borders of Alcott’s narrative. I was much more concerned with the Jo/Laure will-they-or-won’t-they plotline. The notable absence of the war, and of the father, was, it seems to me now, by design. This was not a novel that entwined the domestic and political spheres.

Little Women follows the adventures of the forthright, thrifty, hardworking March daughters as they come of age in Civil War-era Concord. Their father, a middle aged minister, had voluntarily joined the Union army. Meanwhile, the little women must survive their somewhat dire financial and social decline.

March, Geraldine Brooks’ Pulitizer Prize winning historical novel, is named for the March girls’ missing father. Here, in contrast to Alcott’s original text, we follow March through the broad sphere of the American Civil War, from battlefield to cotton plantation to veteran hospital. In the interim, it is revealed that the pure pluck and goodness that characterizes March’s daughters in Little Women becomes fanaticism in their father, a fanaticism enflamed by equal parts love, nobility, and guilt. Needless to say, by the end of his service, the convictions he instilled in his little women seem a trite naive.

Interestingly, rather than merely fill in the formless figure of Mr. March with pure guesswork, Brooks shadows her character after Louisa May Alcott’s father, Bronson Alcott, a real historical figure. Bronson was an abolitionist, an intellectual, a radical, an educator and an avid vegetarian. He was bosom friends with Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau. And he wrote extensive journals and diaries, currently housed at the Library of Congress. The fact that he is Louisa May’s actual parent is just icing on the proverbial cake. In Brooks’ telling, he is a bit of an intolerable moralist, but endearing nonetheless.

The closing hospital scenes in the novel are particularly amazing. Brooks drew them from a book Louisa May wrote before she published Little Women. Hospital Sketches was, in turn, based on Alcott’s experiences working in a Civil War veteran hospital.

Here, Brooks (from the perspective of Marmee) describes Blank Hospital, the hotel-turned-ward where Mr. March convalesces:

At the end of the hall two vast double doors gave on to an ornately corniced room, hung with chandeliers. A gilded sign above the entrance said BALL ROOM, and the name seemed a bleak joke, for inside, arrayed on the polished dance floor, lay the victims of the Minie ball, many of whom would not dance again. There were forty beds within, all handsome hotel beds with turned posts rather than humble hospital cots. Some beds were tenanted, some vacant. A muddy, bloodied group of gaunt new arrivals, slumped against the wall, awaited the surgeon’s attention. Their faces proclaimed defeat as plainly as any banner headline reporting wartime’s latest blunder. The black nurse approached a green-sahsed, silver-haired gentlemen and set down the instruments, taking up a metal bowl to receive the bloody shrapnel piece he plucked from his patient’s shoulder. She inclined her head to where I stood, hesitating, by the wide doorway, and said something to the surgeon in a low voice. Then she beckoned me forward. I came reluctantly, feeling I intruded on the injured man with his shoulder bared to the probe and his pain patent upon his face. (p. 217)

Like Brooks latest novel, Caleb’s Crossing, March was written as a first person historical account. Unlike her more recent foray into American history, March does eventually allow us a glimpse inside the mind of another charater: Mrs. Marmee March. Several of the last few chapters are told from her point-of-view, and it is here where Brooks reveals the raw pain of a woman left living on the homefront of a war. We finally get to witness the emotional honesty that Louisa May Alcott, through Marmee, stifled and ignored. Such revelations have the potential to muddy up the simplistic story of triumph as it was originally told.

As a kid, I had nothing but happy, warm feelings about Little Women. Now, I appreciate March, and, indeed, Louisa May Alcott herself, for very different reasons. The contemporary novel will not give you warm feelings. But it may yet make you happy, if only because it is a more honest accounting of a war-torn family.

'Pic'-ing the Ruins

As someone who has had a long time obsession with the Chernobyl ruins in Pripyat, I sort of love this website, Opacity, which photographically archives abandoned structures.

But, not only does it display beautiful photos of buildings in decay, it also digs deep into the history of each location. If you peruse the pages, you can find information about Rathen State Hospital, for example, which was founded by noted social reformer Dorthea Dix in 1848. The entry on Rathen goes on to tell us that Dix actually spent the last years of her life as a patient at the institution she helped establish. And, of course, the biography explains why the various buildings became abandoned, as well as their architectural styles and motifs previous to the slow creep of decline.

Other recent additions include the Buffalo Central Terminal and Lowe’s Kings Theatre in Brooklyn. This project is incredibly worthy for obvious reasons. Remarkable buildings worldwide are under constant, if necessary, threat. So, at least their images should be preserved on the internet. One lesson we’ve surely learned, ad nauseum, since and before the San Francisco quake is that evidence of the past can be obliterated rather quickly. Perhaps we should each “save” what we can.

Back to San Francisco (1906)

On April 18, 1906, a major earthquake rumbled through San Francisco, shattering the city’s infrastructure. According to Wikipedia, over 80% of the area was destroyed in the earthquake and the resulting fires. Consequently, few remnants of pre-disaster San Francisco remain, which is a tragedy for anyone with a nascent interest in local history.

But such wholesale destruction works to highlight the value of certain rare historical gems. This footage, for example, from the Niles Essanay Silent Film Museum, unearths a bustling San Francisco mere days before the quake.

The film, shot from the back of a streetcar, documents the people and activities of Market Street on that particular day. There is no commentary. Pedestrians gawk at what must have been the odd sight of all that newfangled film equipment. They cross the lane willy-nilly, without our dependence on crosswalks. Bicyclists cruise aside horseback riders, and carriages coexists aside motorcars. It seems as though the filmmakers induced a motorist to circle the streetcar, perhaps making the road appear busier than it was (at one point, around the 3:30 mark, he nearly rams into a pedestrian. There’s no sound, but I’m sure the man was cursing Henry Ford under his breath). Rowdy paperboys taunt the camera, and a young child peaks out at it from inside a cart. An older boy waves as he hangs one-handedly from the back of his own cart.

It is a fascinating piece of work. One could spend a lifetime dissecting the features of the past that are resurrected here. Personally, I’m mesmerized.

Teeth Whitening: A Slightly Gross History

Picture sike! This post is not actually about Zadie Smith, or her super awesome novel.

You know what I’m interested in today? The history of teeth whitening!

From an evolutionary psych perspective, I suppose we find white teeth attractive because sparkling molars are a sign of overall human health and vitality. It’s the same reason we find rosy cheeks and glossy hair attractive: no one wants to mate with someone who will potentially die in the next fortnight from rotten mouth syndrome, or any other degenerative illness for that matter. However, I’ve never given evolutionary psychology much credence. So, moving on…

Did you know, Renaissance-era barbers, who cut hair, cleaned teeth, and performed a horrible approximation of surgery, would whiten their customers’ smiles by using a metal file to pare down their teeth, and then brushing on a smudge of highly corrosive nitric acid?

First-Century Romans apparently discovered that the secret ingredient to good sparkle-making toothpaste was urine, which does in fact contain ammonia. Ammonia whitens, and urine is sterile, but I would hesitate to recommend this method.

By the way, the first bristle toothbrushes were introduced in China in the 16^th century. The bristles were made of hog’s hair. Porker’s are so versatile.

Today, teeth whiteners are the fastest growing dental product, beating out floss, I imagine, which is cheaper and possibly healthier. Ubiquitous marketing wins again!

The Pinkertons

The New York Times has an article about Team 6, the elite group of Navy Seals sent into Abottabad to kill Bin Laden. Since we are celebrating the 500 year anniversary of the Civil War, let’s look at an earlier government funded group of clandestine badasses.

The Pinkerton detectives were the 2.0 version of the CIA. Allan Pinkerton and his spies used subterfuge, disguises, pistols, and boldfaced manipulation to gather information about the Confederate military and to ferret out Confederate allegiances in the Capital. They are Steve McQueen Cool [roughly one kajillion megawatts of cool]. The Pinkertons deserve a movie, or a docudrama, or a webcomic, or at least an old-timey radio show.

Allan Pinkerton

Que?

Scottish-Born Detective, Union Spy, Conductor on the Underground Railroad, Jesse James Pursuer, and Founder of the Secret Service.

A Scene, If You Please?

“I was compelled to keep pretty close to him, owing to the darkness of the night, and several times I was afraid that he would here the footsteps of the man who accompanied me—mine I was confident, would not be detected as, in my drenched stockings, I crept along as stealthily as a cat. Twice, I imagined that he turned around as though suspecting he was followed, but as he did not stop, I reassured myself and plodded on. I could not, however, disabuse my mind of the fear that I had been seen, I could not relax my vigilance, and I resolved to take my chances of discovery. I knew who my man was, at all events, and now I must ascertain where he was going” (The Spy of the Rebellion pp 198).

Tell Me More!

Here, Pinkerton and his men have been sitting in the rain outside the home of a Southern ex-pat Dame who was, reportedly, gathering intel for the Confederates. A traitorous Union captain shows up, and Pinkerton takes off his shoes so he can climb on top of his associates’ backs and to see into the window. Of course, the Captain is very ostentatiously explaining classified military strategies to the Dame, gesturing to maps and whatnot. The Captain leaves and Pinkerton follows him into the night, still shoeless and muddy from the rain, only to be arrested by said Captain. Allan Pinkerton, you are clearly not as stealthy as a cat!

Price Lewis and Samuel Bridgeman

Que?

Pinkerton Agents

A Scene, If You Please?

“Lewis wore a full beard, and this was trimmed in the most approved English fashion, and when fully equipped for his journey he presented the appearance of a thorough well-to-do Englishman, who might even be suspected of having “blue blood” in his veins. In order that he might the more fully sustain the new character he was about to assume, and to give an added dignity to his position, I concluded to send with him a member of my force who would act in the capacity of coachman, groom, and body servant, as occasion should demand. The man whom I selected for this role was a jolly, good-natured, and fearless Yankee named Samuel Bridgeman” (The Spy of the Rebellion 160).

Tell Me More!

Lewis and Bridgeman posed as a wealthy, landed British Lord touring the countryside (Lewis) and his trusty servant (Bridgeman). The performance gained them access to high ranking Confederate officers. In fact, they affect the proper English accents and mannerisms so well that they were habitually invited to dine with the Southern hoi-polloi. Lewis was sure to gift his hosts with cheap wine poured into fancy, expensive bottles. Consequently, the two men got a good inside look at Confederate movements.

John Scobell and Carrie Lawton

Que?

A ”remarkably gifted“ former slave and Pinkerton’s “best female spy.”

A Scene, If You Please?

“The race now became an exiting one; the pursuers having emptied their weapons, without doing any harm to the escaping pair [Scobell and Lawton], did not take time to reload, but urged their horses to their utmost speed. They soon discovered that their horses were no match for those of the fugitives, and their curses were loud enough to be heard by both Scobell and his companion” (The Spy of the Rebellion, 296)

Tell Me More!

Scobell and Lawson were in Richmond trying to ship some important documents to Carrie’s husband, Hugh. They become embroiled in an intense chase when some Confederate soldiers outed them as spies. The chase ends dramatically, with Scobell skidding off his horse, taking a last stand, and shooting two of the pursuers in the head. Luckily, a patrol of Union soldiers was camped right around the corner, and both Scobell and Lawson survived their ordeal.

Timothy Webster

Que?

Perhaps Pinkerton’s most successful operative, he befriends garrulous and high-ranking members of the confederate army, escapes from prison, clocks a man who accuses him of being a spy (which, obviously, he is), and just barely avoids a shootout with a Union mob. In my mind, he is the nonfiction Mal Reynolds, complete with wicked farm boy charm.

A Scene, If You Please?

“Gentlemen, you can talk about hanging me, and perhaps there are enough of you to do it, but, by God, the first one that attempts to put his hands upon me is a dead man!” (The Spy of the Rebellion,106).

Tell Me More!

Webster is so good at pretending to be a Southern sympathizer that he is almost lynched by angry Union loyalists. He is only rescued by the lucky appearance of Pinkerton, who has a difficult time convincing the people that Webster is one of them.

But Webster was, nonetheless, doomed to hang a few years later. Price Lewis gives him up to the Confederacy in order to save his own skin. Civil War spies rarely came to a clean end, I’m thinking.