wordsmithing
I'm taking back an old habit that I once had before: reading. While I don't have the wealth of time that I did when I was a full time graduate student (of course, then, it was my "job" to read), I still enjoy the time that I get to escape into the author's creative center. One of my favorite authors to read is Sarah Vowell. She has a way of writing that continually pulls me in and I can't put the book down… unless of course, it's almost 1am, and I'm about to fall asleep because of how long my day has been. But, that's not the point.
Sarah Vowell tends to take on political and historical topics with a twist. Lately, she has trended toward historical topics, which as a history geek, I'm all over. Her last book, Assassination Vacation, was absolutely hysterical, and it made me want to jump in my car and start road-tripping to see dead president's graves, a task which I've already taken up (Kennedy, Taft, A. Johnson = check). Last spring, one of my graduate reading seminars focused on the factors leading into the American Revolution. Sarah Vowell's newest book, The Wordy Shipmates, focuses on the journey of the early pilgrims, the leadership of John Winthrop, and the beginnings of the Plymouth/Massachusetts Bay Colony.
If you've ever heard Vowell on This American Life on NPR, then you're familiar with her style. She's quirky, snarky, and incredibly intelligent. And most of my guy friends who have a brain can tell you that they'd love to date her, or even marry her. Hence, I'd say, I'd love to be her, too. Again, that wasn't the point I was going to make, but she's amazing, nonetheless. Take for example two excerpts from the book:
…Lincoln, early on in the Civil War, called for saving the Union because it was the 'last best hope of earth.' That was the speech in which Lincoln pointed out 'we cannot escape history.' Well, we can't. …[W]hat happened at Abu Ghraib is sickening, not only because it's just plain sickening but because America is supposed to be better than that. No: best. I hate to admit it, but I still believe that, too. Because even though my head tells me that the idea that America was chosen by God as His righteous city on a hill is ridiculous, my heart still buys into it…. Why is America the last best hope of Earth? What if it's Liechtenstein? Or, worse, Canada? …[WInthrop said] The eyes of all people are upon us. And all they see is a mash-up of naked prisoners and an American girl in fatigues standing there giving a thumbs-up. As I write this, the United States of America is still a city on a hill; and it's still shining–because we never turn off the lights in our torture prisons. That's how we carry out the sleep deprivation.
Or, another excerpt…
In terms of historical tourism, the Pilgrims of 1620 get all the glory. Families, my own included, plan vacations around visiting Plymouth's Mayflower II and 'Plimouth Plantation,' the re-created colonial English and Wampanoag village on the outskirts of town. My sister Amy, my then seven-year-old nephew Owen, and I visited it one summer. It is peopled by actors who will not, under any circumstances, break character–not even when Owen suggested they could really spruce up their cramped little houses by shopping at Home Depot or maybe even Lowe's because Lowe's offers 'everyday low prices.' …We then made the acquaintance of one Englishman Amy dubbed the 'Pilgrim Archie Bunker.' We had just ambled through the Wampanoag village and watched a woman cooking with a clay pot, so Owen had indigenous people on his mind. He told Archie about his collection of Hopi and Navajo kachina dolls he started the previous summer when we went to the Grand Canyon. After an annoying back-and-forth in which Archie determined we apparently came from New Spain and were therefore suspected of Catholicism, we returned to the subject of kachinas. Archie backed away from Owen and asked if if they were poppets. No, Owen said, 'Not puppets–wood carvings.' I told him a poppet is a doll used in witchcraft. 'You know, like when Scooby Doo goes to Salem.' Owen shook his head at Archie and said, 'Kachinas are gods, Hopi and Navajo gods.' Archie poined his finger at Owen's chest and raised his voice, 'Not the true God Jesus Christ!' Then he told Owen he's never shot an Indian personally but he wouldn't lose any sleep over it if he did, and that he would trade with the Indians, though he would never give them anything of value, perhaps 'a pot that was full of holes.' Then my sister grabbed Owen by the arm and said, 'Come on, Owen. Let's get out of here before Mama punches a Pilgrim.
Reading Sarah Vowell gives me a little more hope in the world. With my snarky, sarcastic background, mixed with a passion for history and politics, it's nice to know that there is someone out there who absolutely gets it 100% in writing, and can do it well.
But, dang it Sarah, you beat me to it. Now I have to find another dream to dream…
