Pet Sematary

Of the three Stephen King novels I have read so far, Pet Sematary is the least successful. Although set in small town Maine, this heart-breaking story of loss and grief should work. However, it takes far too long to reach the horror elements, although the ancient Micmac burial ground and a revived cat appear by the middle of the story (in addition to a horrifying dream-like sequence involving the burial ground and ominous omens). However, Rachel, Louis Creed's wife, was too subservient, almost like Wendy in The Shining film. Jud Crandall, who becomes a father figure to Louis, whose father passed away when he was young, adds an interesting dimension to the tale since his own experience with the Wendigo or whatever has enchanted the soil near the Pet Sematary initiates the downfall of the Creed family. 

The Creeds, needless to say, are without a creed although the lapsed Jewish and Methodist backgrounds of Rachel and Louis inform to a certain extent their approach to death, funerals, and family structures. Nevertheless, it was difficult to understand what exactly the message of this book might be. There are obviously allusions to the Micmac Indians and land litigation in the region, with Jud Crandall arguing that the land should ultimately return to the Micmacs. There is a corrupting presence of the modern road and its endless traffic of trucks, suggesting perhaps an implicit critique of the forces of modernity on a beautiful New England town. Jud and Norma, who have lived in the region their entire lifes, have witnessed this transformation over the decades. Yet, this element of the novel doesn't seem as prominent as the death of small towns in Salem's Lot. 

One could say the novel's ultimate horror lies in the prehistoric presence that seems to prey on our curiosity, desire to know, and, eventually, transcend our mortal limitations. The wendigo of Native American folklore emerges as the main demonic or evil force here, exerting an influence in Ludlow and, seemingly, beyond to ensure it gets its way. By the novel's conclusion, the terrifying results of Louis's attempts to bring back Church and Gage have not deterred him from continuing his downward spiral. Perhaps one could read a critique of the bourgeois family is implied in terms of the bourgeois family's attempts to reproduce itself by any means possible? 

Servants, Laborers, and Shophands in the Cities of Tokugawa Japan

Although it is a subject far out of the 'expertise' of this blog, Leupp's Servants, Laborers, and Shophands in the Cities of Tokugawa Japan offers an interesting study on urban history and the rise of wage labor. Focusing on urban domestics, servants, casual laborers, and shophands rather than artisans or the urban poor or street peddlers, Leupp's study demonstrates the key role played by the state in instituting wage labor over life contracts between employers and laborers. The Tokugawa period, although often described as "feudal," paved the way for new social relations and proto-industrialization, a key step toward the development of capitalism. That is the importance of this text, although the study limits itself to the working population of Tokugawa cities and their lives.

 

The conditions were propitious for these developments as merchants became more status-obsessed like the aristocrats, flaunting their wealth and position. The urban boom in the early period of the Tokugawa era favored rural to urban migration as well as a high demand for labor, plus the shoguns mandated the daimyos and their relatives spend a significant amount of time in Edo, thereby fomenting the need for servants and workers to provide services. Soon employment agencies emerged, work groups with a boss who provided labor to clients, shophands and clerks who worked for various businesses, and entertainment venues for all social classes. It's astonishing how modern it sounds, these transformations in Edo, Kyoto and other Japanese castle-towns or urban areas.

 

Leupp's book also analyses in great detail master-servant relations for domestics, forms of resistance (usually individual forms, such as flight or theft, not collective action), housing for the urban laborers, Tokugawa government policies with regards to incarceration and vocational training, urban riots, wages, and gendered dimensions of the workforce. He draws on a wide array of sources, particularly literary ones to perceive societal attitudes towards changes in the workforce, master-servant relations, and the audiences of theater performances. For the casual reader with only a superficial knowledge of such literary references, it could be confusing at times.

However, perhaps the monograph would have been strengthened by including street peddlers, the urban poor, and artisans in the analysis. The groups overlapped considerably, since many day laborers also hawked goods or food in the street, or joined criminal elements and vagrants. Further, some apprentices and artisans, such as carpenters or masons, are included in the analysis. These categories overlapped and would have frequently crossed paths as commoners in the cities and towns, even if many artisans were organized into guilds and possessed more of a petty bourgeois outlook. It would also have been useful to see how technological changes over time contributed to the growth of wage labor and skilled or "unskilled" trades and professions. Was there a rise in the number of artisans who joined the ranks of the day laborers and urban hawkers?

Nevertheless, this is a fascinating perspective on the rise of a proto-proletariat before the Meiji period, and offers some insights into the rise of capitalism. Leupp acknowledges this throughout the book, comparing Japan with early modern European cities to stress the distinctive and shared patterns. Again, the key role played by the "feudal" state is central, although it throws into question what exactly feudal or capitalist systems entail.

Supermarket

Although it's not usually my cup of tea, Logic's Supermarket was an entertaining and accessible read. He explores a crumbling phildickian sense of reality and mental illness in a novel that, quite frankly, is clunky, awkward, and too clearly written in the informal voice of the millennial generation. Nonetheless, I enjoyed reading this novel for its playful mind games as well as its insights on the endless loop or drudgery in retail. So many young Americans, who, are without a doubt the target audience of this novel, can relate to Flynn's sense of aimlessness and the degrading conditions of work in the types of jobs available nowadays. So, regardless of how one feels about the novel's twist or its meta-ness, it speaks to the issues at heart for young Americans. 

Blue Lace

Another delightful and introspective jazz-waltz, penned by the inimitable Lee Morgan. It's amazing how varied and complex the waltz time pieces of Morgan can be. 

Marilisse

Marilisse is one of the important early novels of Haitian literature, thus L'Harmattan's critical re-edition is significant. Focusing on several years in the life of a woman in Port-au-Prince, it tells the story of urban working-class women who experience the pain and suffering of life in politically unstable Haiti while their male partners often fail them or come up short in terms of material support or fidelity. However, the author, Frederic Marcelin, has created a beautiful, selfless mother whose self-sacrifice for her daughter and granddaughter exemplifies a positive image of the Haitian woman. One can see why some have described Marcelin as an early feminist novelist in terms of his non-judgmental depiction of a lower-class woman struggling to support her family. Indeed, aspects of this undoubtedly resonate today with working-class unattached mothers being a poto mitan for their families and communities.

Like Mimola or Zoune, the important social bonds between lower-class women are the bedrock of stability for the urban lower classes. This is especially evident in terms of Marilisse's close friendship with her neighbors Cessé and Zézé who rent homes in the same courtyard. These two women, despite experiencing their own difficulties with unloyal males (in plasaj relationships), declining health, and uncertain earnings as marchandes or seamstresses, often assist Marilisse in raising her child and establishing her laundry service. Joseph, a cymbalier and the father of her daughter, meanwhile, does nothing and eventually abandons his family after being caught sleeping with Tiyette.

Philo to Marilisse, page 120.

While still betraying Marcelin's own bourgeois background (for example, mockery of the superstitions of the urban poor and their willingness to support Modestin because he and his wife become godparents to several children, thereby bequeathing gifts to their families), the novel also shows the negative impact of Haitian political strife on the artisans and urban poor of the city. Marilisse's son-in-law, Philo, for instance, inherits from his father an ébénisterie which was praised for producing for Haitian consumers. However, under the son's lazy management, the workshop declined and Philo bought into the revolutionary rhetoric of Hercule Valdemar, a politically ambitious businessman who exploits the real need for protecting l'industrie nationale for his own purposes. 

Considering Marcelin's own views on Haiti's economic and social ills, he too likely wanted to promote national industry, but without revolutionary means or coups. Artisans and workers should focus on their labor, thereby improving production and serving Haiti through subsequent economic growth. Philo, however internalizes this through a satirical portrait of the wealthy businessman, Valdemar, who later takes advantage of him to ensure his coup succeeds. Thus, the artisans are drawn into the cycle of political conflicts and demagoguery, in spite of Philo's words to Marilisse hinting at class consciousness, a warning to those in power about the awakening of the artisans.

Nonetheless, artisans and reformers of the period (late 19th century or early 20th century) were correct about the government's failure to support the development of national industries or to provide support for artisans. In newspapers and pamphlets, some issued addresses to the national government or had their case pleaded by members of the political class. Historians such as Roger Gaillard have also drawn attention to the fear of class warfare among the Haitian elite, despite the small numbers of proletarians in Haiti. Indeed, even a mutual aid society for workers in the early 1900s sparked fears of socialism and anarchism. Other changes in Port-au-Prince of the era also hint toward starker class divisions and regulations, including the impersonal use of legal authorities to evict tenants and the importance of legal marriage as a social marker of status, suggestive of some degree of greater class stratification as the capital expanded.

However, can one speak of a working-class consciousness for Marilisse? She works with her own hands, cleaning and ironing clothes for her clients. She may be, at least in her early years, more of a small business owner since she employed an apprentice, Tiyette, as well as Zoune, to assist in the everyday operations. And, through her daughter's godparents and husband, she hopes for upward social mobility. However, her ties to the upper-class, which led to her enjoying lavish baptism ceremonies and the exquisite wedding of her daughter, financed by Valdemar, are not sustained. She's left supporting her progeny after the latter's shiftless husband quits working, and by the novel's end, is supporting Joseph again. She avoids politics, focusing on survival. But, there is a degree of social solidarity binding her with her women neighbors and the male workers and artisans living in the courtyard, as they're the socially excluded who suffer the adverse effects of insecurity, cheating men, or misery. They are the ones excluded from the political world, who have to experience physical pain and suffering through their years of hard labor in the sun, storms, or streets.

Her tragic tale seems to indicate more the oppressive conditions of life for the working people of the city, which develops through the author's sometimes satirical or humorous prose. What steps could Marilisse and the other women around her take to solve their problems? Hence, the tragedy. These women are trapped. In Mimola, Vodou provides, in part, an answer as a component of ancestral identity and women's religious or spiritual power. Catholicism, in Marilisse, clearly an important aspect of the titular character's public identity in terms of status, does not appear to offer any alternative. The men around them, who in a patriarchal society should be their caretakers, cannot do so. Much like the Haitian man of the elite, who could not compete with foreigners for the hearts of women of their class, the Haitian man of the working classes is not reliable, either.

Thus, Marilisse is useful for a historical overview of the working peoples of Port-au-Prince, as well as the tragic experiences women of the urban poor endured. While hinting at working-class angst and, in an attenuated form, rebellion, the lower classes here are subdued, yet, simultaneously, resilient. Marilisse herself, struggles onward, as the Haiti of her time continues its path down the road to destruction. As an early novel centered on a woman protagonist, Marcelin delivers a pioneering work which brings to life the concerns, experiences, and conflicts of the people who make Port-au-Prince work. Indeed, Marilisse is Haiti, leaving the reader to ponder the future of such a nation. 

The Shining

Stephen King's The Shining is my second King novel. Although I have long considered myself a fan of the film, Kubrick's brilliant adaptation which took many liberties with the source material, I now find the novel more enjoyable and, ultimately, more disturbing. Given the constraints of the film medium, the disturbing additional contextual and character background information in the novel add more layers to the complex events at the Overlook. Moreover, I think I prefer the book ending, particularly Hallorann's character succeeding in saving Danny and Wendy. In addition, the Overlook itself as a character is far more terrifying in the novel, with its moving topiary, deceased woman in Room 217, and inescapable weight of history. King's novel is better able to explore the gender dynamics of the American family unit of the 1970s, the dangers of obsession, racism and America's violent past of lynching, and cyclical violence or trauma from familial or social histories. Also, Wendy emerges as a fully-formed character who isn't so servile and obedient to Jack. Wendy appears to be trapped somewhere between trapped housewife and liberated woman, whereas the film's Wendy is servile and grins foolishly while enduring the abuse of Jack.