My Predictions for Kindred

So, we just started reading Kindred, and in honor of this conventionally straightforward narrative, I decided I would write a blog post on my predictions for how the plot will continue.  

The "main character," Dana, seems to be the center of the plot so far, which seems to be focused around her time travel from the 1970s to the 1800s. My first prediction concerns the prologue. Dana's arm has just been amputated and she and Kevin are extremely vague about why. It has still not been explicitly explained, which makes sense, considering the scene in the prologue usually occurs at the climax or end of the novel, but nonetheless, I believe there is a fairly simple explanation for why the amputation was necessary. Following the prologue, we are introduced to Dana's time travel. Through the narrative, the reader can figure out that when Dana time travels, if she moves from place to place while in the past, she will also move from place to place in the present (recall how she disappears and appears a few feet away the first time she goes back in time). Because of this example, I believe that Dana's arm having been "crushed right into the wall" was caused by her returning to the present close enough to a wall that her arm got stuck. And, as we all know, it is quite difficult to safely remove an arm from a wall, so it is necessary to amputate it instead.  

Now, you might be saying, "well, okay Lia, but this is really very simple and we all already thought of that. Do you have anything a little more exciting for us?" The answer, is yes. I have an astronomically more insane prediction to share with you. Now, I will admit that I am skeptical as to the likeliness of it coming true, but nonetheless I did say I was going to share my predictions for the continuation of the plot, so I will.  

Similarly to the first one, this prediction is directly related to the prologue. As Adi pointed out in our discussion yesterday, this novel seems a little more modern than what we have been reading so far this semester. It has the style and suspense of a detective novel and a simple narrative style that I associate with novels I would not expect to see in this class. So, in order to post-modernize (or maybe just anti-modernize, I still don't really get the differences) this novel a bit, I predict that not only will the prologue not be the end of the novel (some people were saying that yesterday), but it won't even be the climax of the novel. It will simply not happen. Generally, a prologue is either something that has happened years previously, or a flash forward to the most important or exciting part of the novel. Not only would not including the prologue later in the novel separate this novel from most modern novels, but it would also bring about the possibility that the prologue is a possible ending or a possible climax. This implies that the time travel in Kindred is the sort of time travel where Dana can change the future. The prologue that Butler includes is (well, could be) just one possible future, but it is not necessarily the only possibility. 

Doctor Who and Slaughterhouse-Five

Starting at the very beginning of the novel, on the title page, Vonnegut confused me with seemingly sensible sentences about “the planet Tralfamadore, where the flying saucers come from.” It is not until page 32 (of the big brown version) that Vonnegut decided it was about time to inform us that Billy had, as a matter of fact, “been kidnapped by a flying saucer [from Tralfamadore] in 1967.” Then, on the next few pages, Billy reveals that his writing style/thought process is an attempt to mimic the thought process of the Tralfamadorians.

Now, I could write this blog post as an analysis/listing of all of the Tralfamadorian ideas displayed in this novel so far, but before we get to that (if we do) I would like to explain to you how Billy’s kidnapping by the Tralfamadorians is basically Doctor Who.

For those who don’t know, Doctor Who is a British TV show that has been airing since 1963. It follows the timeline of the Doctor, a Time Lord from a planet called Gallifrey who travels through time and space in his TARDIS. Throughout the show, he dies and is regenerated multiple times. For this post, I would like to focus on the Eleventh Doctor, played by Matt Smith. One of the Eleventh Doctor’s companions (people/humans who travel with him) is Amy (Amelia) Pond, often accompanied by her husband, Rory.

On Rory and Amy’s wedding anniversary (Season 7 episode 4: “The Power of Three”) the Doctor shows up, whisks Amy and Rory into his police box TARDIS, and then they leave. The episode shows how they go from time to time (at one point Amy accidentally marries Henry the 8^th; he’s the one who had six wives; if you want to watch, here’s a song about him: https://www.schooltube.com/video/123d1074578941487a5f/HORRIBLE%20HISTORIES%20-%20The%20Wives%20of%20Henry%20VIII%20(Terrible%20Tudors) ) and then at the end of it they return back to the anniversary party just a few seconds after they left. However, when Rory’s father (played by the same actor who played Arthur Weasley) questions the Doctor, he admits they have actually been gone for seven weeks.

There are a few connections to be made between this episode of Doctor Who and Slaughterhouse-Five the most obvious being that no one notices that the Ponds or Billy have left. As Billy describes, “the Tralfamadorians had taken him through a time warp, so that he could be on Tralfamadore for years, and still be away from Earth for only a microsecond” (32-33).

The other two connections are smaller and more ironic than significant. The first is that Billy leaves the night of his daughter’s wedding and Rory and Amy leave during their anniversary party. Both instances are connected to weddings. The second connection is that, while away, both Amy and Billy enter into a new relationship with someone living in the place they are visiting. With Amy, it is, as previously stated, King Henry VIII, and with Billy, it is Montana Wildhack, a “former Earthling movie star” who he mates with while on Tralfamadore (32).

It would be cool to find out if these are related at all; like if one stole the idea from the other (the TV show came out first, so the idea of travel through time and space wasn’t new, but this episode didn’t air until 2012), but since that is not possible, in conclusion, I would just like to mention one thing that connects both the TV show Doctor Who as a whole and the novel Slaughterhouse-Five. Both main characters, the Doctor and Billy, are involved in a war. For the Doctor, it is the Time War, where all of the Time Lords (and Ladies) other than himself (and the Master/Missy) die, and for Billy, it is World War II. These wars seem to define the characters of both these “men” (the newest Doctor is a woman) and push them into the actions portrayed in the novel/show (Billy would never have written the novel if he hadn’t been in the war; the Doctor basically becomes the Doctor because of the war).

Any Whovians out there, do you agree? Also, on a completely different note, can anyone explain to me how the War Doctor is not the First Doctor? I haven’t seen the original series so that stuff trips me up. Thanks!

Gender in Mumbo Jumbo

Though we have discussed race in relation to Mumbo Jumbo in class, I realized today that we never talked about gender. So, what? It’s not a big deal, we don’t have to talk about sexism in relation to every book that we read. It was a simple observation.

But then, that observation dug into my mind, and I realized, that in the entire book, I could only think of two named, relatively consequential, female characters: Earline and Charlotte. And, even with those two, they didn’t seem to have a very large part in the story. The two are second to pro-Jes Grew, fairly prominent black men, with Earline as Papa LaBas’ assistant and Charlotte doing things for Berbelang. 

Think about it: both Earline and Charlotte seem involved with Jes Grew and its spread, yet (as far as I can remember) Earline is mentioned only in regard to the Mumbo Jumbo Kathedral and her possession by a loa, and Charlotte is mentioned only in regard to the Mumbo Jumbo Kathedral, her involvement in plays of some sort, and her murder by Musclewhite. 

Charlotte’s lack of a presence seems fairly realistic to me, though I question why she wasn’t involved with the mutafikah alongside Berbelang, but what seems extremely odd is Earline’s lack of involvement. She enters the story momentarily at the beginning of the novel and then disappears for a while, reappears to have sex with a married man, get a loa separated from her, and then disappear again. Why is she not involved in LaBas’ movements? 

It is, of course, possible that Earline is completely oblivious to the surrounding conflict of Jes Grew versus the Atonists, but that seems unlikely. As Papa LaBas’ assistant, one might imagine that Earline would be by LaBas’ side (at times other than when he is at a party), but instead, he is trailed by Black Herman and/or T Malice, two black men who also seem to be involved with the Kathedral.

So, why are these women kicked to the background? Well, at least in the party scene 159, it seems to me that Earline (Charlotte is dead at this point) is excluded because she is a woman: weak and unable to handle to horrors of disrupting a party. Another woman mentioned in the scene, the Hostess, pushes this stereotype by fainting not once, but twice. 

Ok, so maybe the men in the story feel that Earline is too feminine for their work, but why would Reed write his female characters like this in his novel? This is something which, despite extensive thought, I have been unable to find a reason for. It baffles me, because, as we have discussed in class, he is specifically reversing the roles of black and white cultures in terms of superiority and writing white characters like white people wrote black characters in order to make a point about oppression. Why would he ignore the struggle of women, black and white? From what we know about him as an author, it doesn’t seem like something he would purposefully skip over. Like I said, I’m not really sure. Maybe he just didn’t want ideas about sexism to disrupt his overall message about racism or something like that. Who knows. 


Honestly, does anyone have any ideas? It’s hard to base anything off of anything on this topic, seeing as there are very few female characters to study, but I’m sure one of you brilliant minds can think of something other than what I have hypothesized above. 



Note: Here’s the link to a song that made up of words from Mumbo Jumbo that I found on YouTube. It’s sort of jazzy. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7pjdRgzW90E

Sarah's Child and Human Resurrection in Ragtime

A topic that I find quite interesting in relation to Doctorow’s Ragtime is the idea of coming back to life. Not reincarnation, becoming a new person, but resurrection, dying, or partially dying, and then coming back to life. During my panel presentation on Ragtime, I briefly discussed human resurrection and reincarnation, but for now, I would like to focus on human resurrection.

Considering it is Doctorow, it is important to consider that I am not referring to any sort of magical resurrection. Though Doctorow may play with the lines of historical “fact” in Ragtime, to my knowledge he does not attempt to include anything that may have been, or may still be, impossible. Rather, the examples of human resurrection are mostly metaphorical.

The earliest example of metaphorical resurrection is described by the Little Boy on page eight of the novel. The Little Boy describes an occasion where Houdini was “buried alive in a grave and could not escape, and had to be rescued” (7-8). The mere act of being trapped in a coffin and then released is an act of metaphorical resurrection and irony. The only people who go into coffins are dead people (or, I suppose, living people who are buried alive), so the implication is that Houdini goes into the coffin, is in the coffin momentarily metaphorically “dead,” and then is brought out, having been resurrected and returned to life.

A similar act of resurrection happens to Sarah’s child, later named Coalhouse Walker the third. As the Little Boy once more describes, “Mother had dug something up. . . it was an infant” (68-69). Sarah’s child is buried alive (by Sarah herself) and then experiences the same metaphorical death and resurrection as Houdini previously.

The author of my panel presentation article suggested that Sarah’s child also experiences another resurrection: when his mother figure is changed from Sarah to Mother. I would like to further this suggest that Sarah’s child experiences three resurrections: first, when he is pulled from the ground, second, when he switches from being cared for by Sarah to the housekeeper, and third, at the end of the book when טאטע (and the rest of the family) acknowledge the toddler as a part of their dysfunctional (and now mixed race) family.

If you consider the repetition of Houdini and Sarah’s child’s resurrections, one could suggest that Houdini’s described resurrection was merely a foreshadowing of Sarah’s child, and while the Little Boy may be the narrator of the novel, Sarah’s child is what moves it along.

Think about it: the birth and consequent resurrection of Sarah’s child is what moves the plot in the Little Boy’s family, bringing Sarah and then Coalhouse into the household. Without Sarah’s child, Coalhouse never would have met them, and who knows if he would have had his car wrecked and wanted revenge. Similarly, Sarah’s child’s second resurrection is caused by the death of his mother, an event which pushes the plot of the novel further, causing Coalhouse to fall off the edge. Finally, Sarah’s child’s third resurrection is caused by the combination of the families, the conclusion of the story. Each resurrection represents a significant point in the novel without which there would be no plot. 

Can you guys think of other examples of human resurrection? I remember Vikram coming up with some good ones in class, but I forgot them. . .

Conspiracy Theory Time!!!

Of all the topics I could choose to address in this blog post, I think the most interesting one is the idea that Ford and Morgan created the Illuminati. Admit it: yes, labor strikes and anarchy are interesting, but the Illuminati? That is a whole other level. Out of all of the quasi-truthful stories Doctorow tells in Ragtime, this is the only one where I am completely taken by surprise.

First of all, when did the Illuminati become a thing? Doctorow wrote Ragtime in the ‘70s, and I don’t really imagine that level of conspiracy theories in the ‘70s. I figured I would do some research, and, after some quality Wikipedia time, I realized there was a lot more to this than I had thought.

Did you know that the idea of the Illuminati originated in the 18^th Century with an actual group called the Bavarian Illuminati? I sure didn’t. Plus, did you know that they were banned, along with Freemasonry (remember that, juniors?) and other secret societies? This whole time, I had thought someone just made up the idea of the Illuminati and decided to assign the conspiracy theory to groups for fun!

Honestly, though, why would Doctorow want to include a conspiracy theory in his novel? Sure, you might say it was not intentional, but come on, The Pyramid? It cannot have been unintentional! This, of course, leads to another question: why is a pyramid associated with the Illuminati? According to a link from the official Illuminati website, it is “The Pyramid of Wealth and Success.” I interpret the description of the pyramid as saying, those who are richer are rich because there are no other people to replace them. They are unique, they are alone. Does this sound familiar? I think it perfectly describes Morgan’s feeling of loneliness. He feels like there is no one like him, no one who has the same ideas, and he desperately wishes for a companion of similar ideas. His and Ford’s society, The Pyramid, is a representation of themselves as the top of the pyramid: those unreplaceable geniuses who cannot be replaced and (wait for it. . .) are being reincarnated to provide each generation with one such genius.

Woah. I just shocked myself with how conspiracy theory-y I got.

(Source: https://illuminati.am/pyramid-of-wealth-and-success/)

To return to the original topic, why might Doctorow want to include this conspiracy in his writing? I suspect there is some truth to the idea that he is, in his entire book, describing the Pyramid of Wealth and Success. Think about it: there is Morgan and Ford on the top, and then the bottom is full of the middle class and lower classes. Take Father, for example, and how easily replaceable he is. He leaves for Alaska, and when he returns, his position, at least his position in his business, has been mostly taken over by Mother. Or the strikers that טאטע (Tateh) joins in Lawrence. The entire problem pushing their striking is that wages are dropping lower and lower and they cannot stop it because they are entirely replaceable! Whether it is foreign workers or unemployed citizens, there are always more people ready to take over, regardless of how low the wage is. Remember what טאטע said: “The I.W.W. has won. . .But what has it won? A few more pennies in wages. Will it now own the mills? No.” The combination of טאטע and Morgan’s self-awareness seems almost to me as though it is reaching that fourth wall of writing, where the characters in the story acknowledge their fictionality. It is like an extreme case of “show, not tell.” Instead of hearing it from the narrator, we hear straightforward, slightly unbelievable assessments of the circumstances of the time from the characters themselves. (And, once more, I am off topic).

Anyway, what I am trying (and failing) to say, is that I believe the conspiracy theory is here to remind us, as the readers, how absurd this entire concept is. The absurdity of Mother’s Younger Brother’s obsessions with Evelyn and then Coalhouse. The absurdity of Coalhouse’s sudden shift from seemingly steady and patient musician to crazy-man blowing things up and killing people. The absurdity of the possibility of the Franklin Novelty Company both buying טאטע’s book and selling Ford his book. The absurdity of Houdini suddenly showing up at Father and Mother’s house. Or, even, the absurdity of our own personal conspiracy theory that the Little Boy is, in fact, a deity of some sort. The Pyramid is a reminder of the absurdity, as well as the quasi-legitimacy.

(I cannot hold myself back from connecting this idea of absurdity connected with quasi-legitimacy to the life of a Uni student. Think about Mr. Butler’s fun facts. How many times have you listened to those and thought, even if only for a second, could this be true? It may just be that I am extremely gullible (which I admit I am (ooh look parentheses within parentheses within parentheses!)), but every time I hear a fun fact I acknowledge the absurdity of it (for they are often absurd), but at the same time, they are not impossible. They are not impossible to the extent that it is not necessarily impossible for Evelyn and Emma Goldman to have met, or Houdini and Thaw. They mention real people, famous people, and then tie them up in events which never happened. Huh. I did not even realize how connected they were until I wrote this.)

Hey guys! I hope my overall ideas about conspiracies and Ragtime shone through occasionally despite all of my off-topic ideas. Let me know what you think! Do you agree with my conspiracy theory(s)?

History As Fiction

From now on, all posts will be concerning readings from Mr. Mitchell's History As Fiction class.

"Wait, what?"

One thing I found exceptionally interesting in Song of Solomon is how logic seems entirely screwed. Throughout the novel, there were so many "Wait, what?" moments that I couldn't have counted them if I tried. Here are a few that I found particularly memorable:

1) Guitar's Explanation of the Seven Days (starting pg. 154)

When Guitar is explaining the Seven Days, at first it seems rational (though still a little crazy). He is mathematical; systematic in his approach, explaining how it is an eye for an eye: killing a white person for every black person. Then the "Wait, what?" moment happens when  Guitar starts explaining his form of reverse racism. He seems so rational, and yet what he is saying is absolutely insane. It is beyond an eye for an eye and moving on to something more extreme where Guitar is stereotyping all white people in the exact way that some white people stereotype black people. Milkman seems to agree with the reader on the insanity of what Guitar is saying and vehemently questions him about the ethics of the operation (clearly lacking), but in the end, he hides Guitar's secret from others, even when Guitar is trying to kill him (something which is equally insane).

2) Speaking of Guitar trying to kill Milkman, was that not absolutely crazy?! I swear, I actually screamed when I finished the book. Where is the logic in that? What happened to Guitar "[hating] doing it"? I don't even know what to say about that. It completely caught me off guard, plus the thing with Hagar, PLUS the thing with Pilate. Wow, this book was crazy.

3) Milkman's Attitude toward Finding his Family

Sometimes it is hard for me to interpret how Milkman is truly feeling. Yes, we get his internal monologue (to a certain extent), but a lot of the time we just have to go by what he said to other people. This is particularly troublesome when Milkman is talking to Susan in her house on page 292. "It's important to you, is it, to find your people?" she asks, and Milkman responds, "No. Not really. I was just passing through, and it was just-just an idea. It's not important." These ambiguous statements make it very difficult for the reader to interpret what Milkman actually thinks. Is he in Shalimar to find his family or the gold? After he hears and understands the children's song as being a family history he is so happy and then he seems drunk to Sweet because of how happy he is when they are swimming. Milkman's words with Susan are so out of ordinary, and definitely another "wait, what?" moment.

I have tried to think up a reason why Milkman may have suddenly pretended like he didn't really care about his family (and yes, I think he was pretending) and I think the one that makes the most sense goes along with his immaturity, despite being in his 30s. He is the grumpy kid who doesn't want his sports team to lose, so he starts supporting the other team instead. When what Susan is saying starts disproving everything he has suspected he feels like everything is being messed up, and switches teams to not caring to make himself feel better.

I'm not sure how solid the above concept is, but I think it goes along well with the sense of boyhood we have observed as surrounding Milkman even at his older age. Let me know what you think!

Also, seriously, what did you guys think of that wacky ending?!