Candide by Voltaire

Source of book: I own this. 

This is one of those books that I probably should have read years ago. We read about it in high school, but I don’t think we read any excerpts. (Probably too racy for a Fundie curriculum...those crazy French authors!) I also didn’t own a copy until recently. I picked up a lovely hardback Easton Press edition at a recent library sale, which gave me the chance to read it. 

First published in 1759, Candide caused controversy and scandal from the outset. Although it was widely known that Voltaire wrote it, he used a pseudonym for plausible deniability. His publishers weren’t so lucky, and were hounded and prosecuted and bankrupted for their pains. Ah, the good old days, when government censorship was inescapable. (Actually, Candide was indeed Banned In Boston in 1929.) As is often the case with censorship, this only increased the book’s popularity, and it became one of the most widely read and translated works of its era. 

Candide was influenced by Jonathan Swift’s earlier work, Gulliver’s Travels, as well as other picaresque novels, travelogues, and coming-of-age stories of the time. The title character (whose name is a bit of a pun, like the other characters) grows up in relative luxury, raised by a nobleman, and taught by Dr. Pangloss, who subscribes to Leibniz’ philosophy that we live in the best of all possible worlds. When Candide tries some kissing on the baron’s daughter, he is evicted, and begins a series of tragic and ludicrous adventures, becoming more and more disillusioned. 

The story itself is highly unrealistic, shockingly bloody (although few actually end up dying like we think they have), and deliciously satirical. Voltaire takes on pretty much every institution of his time, but also a lot of beliefs - and the problem of evil. Religion, of course, is thoroughly skewered, which is one reason it was banned. But also, governments, the military, philosophers, and society get solid digs throughout. Hypocrisy isn’t hard to find, of course. 

Regular readers of English Victorian literature like myself tend to find French writers a bit...racy. The thing of it is that they assume a certain degree of female promiscuity as normal, and don’t have the obsession with virginity that English and American writers seem to. This book plays sex for laughs and horror. The main female character, Cunegonde, is raped in the second chapter, is kept as a mistress by both a Jew and a priest at the same time (shocking enough at the time), becomes the mistress of a Governor in South America, then a sex slave to a pirate, and finally ends up as the nagging wife of Candide. But at least she becomes a good cook. (It is hard to explain how funny that line is without the context.) 

The book is both very much of its time, yet with timeless satire. I can’t say all of it has aged well - the bit about the women taking monkeys as lovers feels like a racist jab at indigenous peoples, for example. But much more feels contemporary. After all, Voltaire points out the tendency of powerful men to rape and abuse women, or at least use and discard them. Greed and jealousy haven’t gone away either, nor has ludicrous class chauvinism. Human nature is still human nature. 

Speaking of that, Candide is forced into the Bulgarian military, but chickens out and hides during the brutal battle. Voltaire’s description of the aftereffects of the battle are unfortunately spot on:

He clambered over heaps of dead and dying men and reach a neighboring village, which was in ashes; it was an Abare village, which the Bulgarians had burned in accordance with international law. Here, old men dazed with blows watched the dying agonies of their murdered wives who clutched their children to their bleeding breasts; there, disemboweled girls who had been made to satisfy the natural appetites of heroes gasped their last sighs; others, half-burned, begged to be put to death. Brains were scattered on the ground among dismembered arms and legs.

As he flees this horror, he comes across a village that belongs to the other side, and the same thing was done by them. At this point, he is still clinging to the “this is the best of all possible worlds” philosophy, but it is getting harder. 

Soon afterward, Candide is reunited with Pangloss, who relates the sad fates of the baron and his household. (Although it turns out they aren’t all dead…) Pangloss looks like hell, and confesses that when Candide caught him “giving a lesson in experimental physics” to the maid, he caught syphilis. 

“My dear Candide! You remember Paquette, the maid-servant of our august Baroness; in her arms I enjoyed the delights of Paradise which have produced the tortures of Hell by which you see I am devoured; she was infected and perhaps is dead. Paquette received this present from a most learned monk, who had it from the source; for he received it from an old countess, who had it from a cavalry captain, who owed it to a marchioness, who derived it from a page, who had received it from a Jesuit, who, when a novice, had it in direct line from one of the companions of Christopher Columbus.” 

Voltaire is actually correct about this: it is generally agreed that Columbus’ crew brought syphilis back from the New World with them. But notice how many unspoken truths Voltaire puts in this one statement. Pangloss taking advantage of his position to seduce a maid, who had previously slept with a monk, who also did it with a countess. The randy countess did it with both clergy and military; the soldier was irresistible to multiple rich women, one of whom also had the hots for young boys. (A page would be from ages 7-14, typically.) That boy was infected after being raped by a priest, who got it by a chain back to Columbus. That’s a lot of morally and/or socially unacceptable relationships that were widely known to exist, but were not always talked about in public. 

Despite all this, Pangloss continues to cling to his philosophy. 

“It was all indispensable, and private misfortunes make the public good, so that the more private misfortunes there are, the more everything is well.” 

If you think this sounds a bit like Social Darwinism (which would come into vogue a century later), you are right. 

Candide is, through improbably circumstances, reunited with Cunegonde, only to find that she is dependent on selling her body to the Jewish merchant and the Inquisitor on alternating days. They both show up, and, jealous of finding Cunegonde in the presence of another man, try to kill Candide, who kills them instead in self defense. Cunegonde marvels that Candide, who is both mild mannered and incompetent with a sword, manages this. 

“My dear young lady,” replied Candide, “when a man is in love, jealous, and has been flogged by the Inquisition, he is beside himself.” 

That’s a laugh out loud line, and wouldn’t be entirely out of place in The Princess Bride. 

One of the watercolor illustrations from my Easton Press edition of the book, by Sylvain Sauvage.

There is a decent amount of gratuitous boobage, but what do you expect from a French artist?

The party flees to South America, where they end up in Paraguay. Candide’s servant, Cacambo (the most rational person in this crazy book), spent time there, and explains how things are. 

“Their government is a most admirable thing. The kingdom is already more than three hundred leagues in diameter and is divided into thirty provinces. Los Padres have everything and the people have nothing; ‘tis the masterpiece of reason and justice. For my part, I know nothing so divine as Los Padres who here make war on the Kings of Spain and Portugal and in Europe act as their confessors; who here kill Spaniards and at Madrid send them to Heaven; all this delights me…” 

Eventually, Candide meets another philosopher, Martin, who is the opposite of Pangloss. Martin is cynical and pessimistic about everything, which makes him as mockable as Pangloss. Here are a couple of exchanges:

“But to what end was this world formed?” said Candide.

“To infuriate us,” replied Martin.

I am reminded of the famous line from The Hitchhikers’ Guide to the Galaxy…

There is a theory which states that if ever anyone discovers exactly what the Universe is for and why it is here, it will instantly disappear and be replaced by something even more bizarre and inexplicable. There is another theory mentioned, which states that this has already happened.

Later in the conversation, the naive Candide asks another question:

“Do you think,” said Candide, “that men have always massacred each other, as they do today? Have they always been liars, cheats, traitors, brigands, weak, flighty, cowardly, envious, gluttonous, drunken, grasping, and vicious, bloody, backbiting, debauched, fanatical, hypocritical and silly?”

“Do you think,” said Martin, “that sparrow-hawks have always eaten the pigeons they came across?”

“Yes, of course,” said Candide.

“Well,” said Martin, “if sparrow-hawks have always possessed the same nature, why should you expect men to change theirs?”

Near the end, Candide and Martin are the guests of Pococurante, a rich epicurean who is a critic of everything. Martin is just cynical, but Pococurante finds his “excellent taste” prevents him from enjoying nearly everything. After dismissing the classics of the time as mostly rubbish, Pococurante gives away his game:

“Fools admire everything in a celebrated author. I only read to please myself, and I only like what suits me.” 

I know a few people like that. Nothing against reading for fun - hey, I do it all the time! But to go through life unchallenged, only dabbling in what you already know and like, seems a tragedy. 

After all these crazy adventures, Pangloss, Candide, Martin, Cunegonde, and a few others they have picked up on the way, settle down on a bit of land in a sort of commune, and find some bit of contentment, if not exactly happiness. Martin urges everyone to work without arguing as that is the only way life will be endurable. Pangloss, despite admitting that he didn’t actually believe his own optimism, keeps on preaching it, claiming that all the horrors of the past were necessary for their current situation. Candide, finally older and wiser, ends the book by saying:

“‘Tis well said,” replied Candide, “but we must cultivate our gardens.” 

Candide is unlike any other book I have read, I must say. While clearly in the 18th Century style, it’s short episodes and rapid-fire plot contrast with the more wordy and rambling style of Swift and others. The book is short, but covers a bewildering amount of ground. All the wit and satire happens in such a rapid-fire manner that you can’t just whip through it - you have to stop and savor it. In a way, I was reminded of Mark Twain, who also used unexpected twists, improbable events, and razor-sharp satire throughout his work. 

***

Update: I got busy and completely forgot that I needed to add music to this! 

Back in the day, when I was a rookie violinist with the BSO, we had these summer pops concerts outdoors in the heat. We got a full rehearsal and a quick run-through before the concert, and that was it. We played 1812 Overture at the end with fireworks and stuff. 

Anyway, because literally everyone besides my brother and me had played the stuff a gazillion times, we got handed our music before the first rehearsal (we had a shot at 1812 because our teacher gave us parts to work on), and had to sight read Bernstein's Candide Overture. 

Total flop sweat time. 

We managed to make it through without playing in the rests, at least. Now, it doesn't seem as terrifying as it did back then, but I still remember that feeling of panic. Welcome to the big league, kid...

The Hundred Days by Patrick O'Brian

Source of book: I own this.

This book is number 19 in the Aubrey/Maturin series of novels about the British Navy during and after the Napoleonic Wars. I have read all of the previous books, and reviewed the last few for my blog. Because I do not duplicate all of the background information in each post, it is probably best to read them in order. And by all means, read the books in the correct order, as a particular adventure will often be stretched across several books.

The Letter of Marque

The Nutmeg of Consolation

The Thirteen Gun Salute

The Truelove

The Wine Dark Sea

The Commodore

The Yellow Admiral

Also: SPOILER ALERT! 

***

Sorry, but in order to discuss this book properly, there must be spoilers. 

First, an historical one. Napoleon escaped from exile at Elba, and embarked on a last effort to conquer Europe. This period, between his escape and Waterloo is now referred to as the “Hundred Days,” hence the title of this book, which is set during that period. 

The book, however, does not focus on the land battles, but instead follows the intrigues and skirmishes in the Mediterranean. In the confusion in French politics, the French navy and its officers find themselves in a pickle: do they declare loyalty to King Louis XVIII or follow Napoleon? Or do nothing, hoping to see one party win first? To pick the wrong horse, so to speak, could mean the end of a career or worse…

In addition, there were numerous ships under construction in various Mediterranean ports that could be of use to either the Royal forces (who were nominally allies of Britain) or Napoleon’s imperial navy. 

Jack Aubrey and Stephen Maturin are thus dispatched to the Mediterranean to disrupt anything which would benefit Napoleon, and protect the shipping of England’s allies. 

The book essentially begins and ends with death. First is the sudden and unexpected death of Stephen’s wife, Diana, in a carriage accident. (Along with Jack’s mother-in-law.) This kind of catches everyone off guard, as Diana has been a beloved central character since the second book in the series. 

Near the end of the book, Aubrey’s coxswain, Barrett Bonden, is killed in action. Bonden has been a supporting character since the very beginning, so his loss is also keenly felt. The hazards of war, though.

The Hundred Days contains a number of related yet distinct episodes. There is the rescue of an ambushed convoy, intelligence intrigue, an extended land trip in Algeria by Stephen, and a dramatic capture of a gold transport. 

In addition to the central friendship of Maturin and Aubrey, an additional character makes his appearance as a companion and contrast to Maturin. Amos Jacob is a Jewish physician and spy who signs on to the voyage, ostensibly as an assistant to Maturin, but really because he speaks multiple languages (crucially Arabic and Turkish) and has contacts throughout the Mediterranean. He is also a Cainite, which leads to some rather interesting conversations in the book. Jacob is a strong character, filling a role which had been missing in the series since Mr. Martin retired to a land career.  

The episode on land is a rather interesting one. Stephen and Jacob are tasked with convincing the Dey of Algiers to withhold the cash payment to Islamic mercenaries planning to delay the Russian forces from joining England in battle against Napoleon. This ends up completely differently from how everyone expects, because immediately prior to Amos and Stephen’s arrival, the present Dey is strangled, and Omar Pasha takes his place. (This is a fictional character, not to be confused with the historical Omar Pasha - I had to look that up to be sure.) Stephen and the Dey have a hunting trip together, which seems to go well, but Jacob finds out from a source that the Dey has sent the money despite promising not to. At that point, it becomes a race against time to intercept the shipment. 

I also enjoyed the mock “battle” between Aubrey’s ships and the ship of a rival French captain. This captain has appeared before in the books, and he and Aubrey have a cordial relationship despite fighting on opposite sides. The French captain faces a dilemma, because he has no love for Napoleon, but his commanding officer has picked the side of Napoleon. Aubrey proposes a way to save face. He will “attack” the French ship - firing blanks - and the French ship will fire back in kind. After that, the French ship will surrender, realizing that it is outnumbered and outgunned. (Both quite true.) Thus, Aubrey can win the “battle” with no bloodshed on either side. 

I thought The Hundred Days was one of the better plotted books, with a clearer focus and theme. Not that there is anything wrong with the narratives which stretch over two or three books, but as a single book, this one held together well. 

There are a few quotes worth mentioning. First is the reference to the Kasbah (Casbah) of Algiers. I think this calls for both a picture and a song, don’t you think? 

By toufik Lerari from Nice, France - Casbah - Algiers, CC BY-SA 2.0

This is part of the palace itself. The whole compound is in disrepair, alas, although some restoration has been done. 

The second comes in a discussion between the Dey’s rather disingenuous vizier and Stephen, after Stephen raises the question of the mercenary payment. 

Surely, my dear sir, a man of your egregious perspicacity cannot believe these wild tales? His Highness is a most orthodox Sunnite, while the agitators in Herzegovina and those parts, of whom I have heard quite often, are violent Shiites; and they have turned to a notorious Shiite sheikh in Morocco. For them to ask the orthodox Dey to help them at this point passes belief: it is as though a band of Calvinists were to beg for the assistance of the Vatican. 

While there is obviously some truth here (and the Calvinism reference is amusing), the vizier neglects to mention that supposed enemies make common cause all the time. It is the nature of politics, so to speak. 

The other great line is in a discussion between Jacob and Maturin. Prior to leaving Algiers, Maturin has discovered two Irish children who were captured and enslaved. He purchases them, intending to house them in the ambassador’s home until he can arrange transportation back to Ireland. The ambassador’s wife refuses, which infuriates Maturin. 

“Listen, Amos: did you ever read an author who said, ‘Never underestimate a woman’s capacity for jealousy, however illogical or inconsistent or indeed self-defeating’?”

“I do not think so: but the notion is fairly wide-spread among those who think of men and women as belonging to two different nations; and who wish to be profound.” 

I have experienced too many irrationally jealous men to buy into this version of gender essentialism, and thus agree with Amos on this one. 

I am almost done with these books, sadly, and will likely have to find a new series to read. I highly recommend them as literary historical fiction. O’Brian has created truly memorable characters, with an admirable depth and complexity. His moral dilemmas are also true to life - and the time in which the books are set. Also impressive is the way that his characters age throughout the books, both physically and emotionally. 

Green Day's American Idiot (Empty Space 2019)

Don't wanna be an American idiot

Don't want a nation under the new media

And can you hear the sound of hysteria?

The subliminal mind-fuck America

Welcome to a new kind of tension

All across the alien nation

Where everything isn't meant to be okay

Television dreams of tomorrow

We're not the ones who're meant to follow

For that's enough to argue

Well maybe I'm the faggot America

I'm not a part of a redneck agenda

Now everybody do the propaganda

And sing along to the age of paranoia

***

In doing my research for this post, I was startled to realize that the album, American Idiot, actually came out in 2004, which seems rather later than I thought. But I guess that is kind of the way it often works for me, given my, um, complicated, relationship with popular music. Maybe I should back up a bit and explain. 

Music is one of the most important parts of my life. I do not remember a time when I didn’t love music, and care deeply about music. Classical music in particular has been meaningful to me my entire lifetime. When I was very young, I remember snuggling in my parents’ bed after dark, listening to the classical program sponsored by a local utility. Somewhere around age 6, I saw a little friend of mine play a recital on violin, and I was struck by the idea that maybe I too could learn to play. I pestered my poor parents until they gave in and got me a violin and lessons for my 7th birthday. My mom probably deserves a sainthood for putting up with those first years until I got to the point where my playing was bearable. We didn’t have much money at that time, so even lessons were a stretch. But my mom also found a way to get a set of classical albums from a grocery store promotion, and from then on, classical has been a part of my listening. I worked my way from youth symphony to the grown up version around age 20, and have enjoyed making music with friends most of my life. 

So that’s the classical side. 

My dad always had a love for classic pop and rock from the 1960s, particularly The Beach Boys. I gained an introduction to that era from listening to the radio while driving around with him. 

Unfortunately, as I got to the age where I might learn the music of my own generation, my parents got into a bizarre bit of religious fanaticism on the subject of music. I don’t even remember the source or speaker on the tapes, but it basically tied all music that has an “African” origin - jazz, rock, pop, modern country, etc. - to “the devil’s music.” This idea was also a core part of Bill Gothard’s teaching, which dominated our family from my mid-teens onward.

This led to a huge tension in my life. I learned enough of the drums to play for our youth group and even fill in for the adult service. But I had to (more or less) lie to my mom that I played on beats 1 and 3 (God’s preference) rather than on 2 and 4 (the Devil’s beat). Which is - as any legitimate musician would know - utter bullshit. The history of Western music (and more) is that of bass on beats 1 and 3 and treble on 2 and 4. Basically, this whole thing was racism applied to music. Damn n----r beats, of course. 

So, my teen years were kind of a pantomime, in a way. Once I got my own car and license, I listened to stuff I liked (mostly learning the 60s and 70s on a good oldies station Bakersfield had at the time), playing music on drums, electric guitar, with actual syncopation. (Like, um, every classical composer too…) And, at the same time, trying not to freak my mom out any more than I had to. Which meant that I had to stay fully clear of anything actually modern on the radio. And certainly never listen to anything with a parental advisory on the cover. 

After I finally got a place of my own at age 22 - by which time the Internet had arrived - I had to go back and discover my own generation’s music. It has been a...process, shall we say. One thing I have had in my favor is a baseline of musical knowledge, which, along with a decent memory, allowed me to learn quickly. 

I do remember the first time I really listened to Green Day. It was around 1999 or so, when I was visiting friends (ironically, fellow Gothardites) who were a few years younger. We drove around Sonoma County in their Bronco and listened to forbidden music like Nirvana and Green Day - those were the two that stood out the most. Okay, and Weird Al Yankovic. 

It is hard to believe that American Idiot didn’t come out until a few years later, after I was married and had a couple kids. Somehow, the songs run together with the older ones of my first memory. 

So all this to come to the present. My eldest is, like me, a musical omnivore. This has meant a heck of a lot of fun, honestly. We saw Bohemian Rhapsody together (she’s a huge Queen fan), and we go to concerts and sing along with all the songs we know from the 60s to the 90s. When we saw that there was going to be a local production of American Idiot, we knew we had to go see it. 

I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect from the show. I got busy and didn’t have a chance to go through the album in detail and figure it out, so I had to kind of follow things as they came. 

The basic idea of the musical is a very barebones plot to hold together the songs themselves. The album is even more vague than the musical, of course. It has a basic idea, and the beginning of a plot, but it never really figures out what happens. Which is fine: it’s a concept album that just happens to have some amazing songs that have aged really well. 

If I had it to do over again, I would have gone ahead and read the Wikipedia plot summary first, to make things easier to follow. Basically, this is what it is: three friends growing up in a suburban dystopia decide to leave for the big city to find themselves. One ends up staying behind after his girlfriend gets pregnant. Another tires of the city quickly and joins the army, getting seriously wounded in Iraq. The third spirals down into drug addiction before deciding to return home. Which is what all three end up doing after their escapades. 

TES publicity photo  

Obviously, the plot isn’t the main point here. The songs are the thing, and they have stood up to time surprisingly well. Written three years into the Iraq War - which has turned out to have been the first in an 18 year (and counting…) debacle of absolute self-fuckery. The poets have turned out to be prophets in the end. 

To me and those like me, this wasn’t obvious at the time. I was all in on the war, having seen the towers fall. It was rah, rah, shock ‘n’ awe and this was totally going to work and be over fast and not turn into another Vietnam because this time we weren’t going to leave but were going to blow the bad guys to kingdom come and fuck the naysayers because the liberals were all a bunch of pansies and…

Well, here we are 18 years later. My children have never known a time we weren’t at war. We have caused, in all likelihood, well north of a million civilian casualties - innocent victims we euphemize as “collateral damage.” Saddam and Osama have been replaced by ISIS and others, and I can’t honestly say that any place in the Middle East is better off than before we intervened. (Although, to be fair, our disastrous interference dates back to World War I…) We have a generation of soldiers (as in Vietnam) who are traumatized by their experiences, causing ongoing issues with homelessness, suicide, and general dysfunction. And, as problematic as George W. Bush was (and I voted for him, twice, don’t judge), now we have gone far beyond him to the delightful combination of idiocy and virulent hatred that is personified in Trump. And it sure looks like Green Day was prophetic about the future, with Fox News and racist rednecks and bigoted theocrats in power. Good god. The poets (and musicians) have been and continue to be our prophets. 

So, a bit about this production. First, the bad. I found the vocals to be uneven, with some intermittent pitch issues. Combined with this (and perhaps causing it) was the challenging logistics. The Empty Space is a very small venue, in an older strip mall. Although they used mics this time - most shows have been pure acoustic - there is still no way to get around the acoustical challenges of the venue. For some shows, the vocals have been outstanding, but others, not so much. This one was a mixed bag. Interestingly, the best parts were the ensemble numbers. I get the feeling that the members of the ensemble cast were more comfortable singing under difficult conditions than the leads, and were able to carry the pitch. So, as a musician myself, there were some moments where I really wished the pitch had been better. 

On the more positive side, I loved that TES got some live musicians. In particular, Alex Mitts (who has been a favorite of mine as an actor and singer in past productions) rocked it on guitar and general enthusiasm in the on-stage band. (Two guitars and bass were placed at backstage behind a chain link fence.) Kudos as well to Scott Deaton and Luis Velez (who also act!) - I’ve played for musicals myself, and it is a freaking difficult and thankless job. 

The most major change that TES made from the original was flipping the gender of the lead character. Johnny, and part of the alter-ego “St. Jimmy,” were performed by Gari Galanski, which meant a lesbian love scene, and a somewhat different take on the character. Maybe it is just our culture, but I found her version less offensive than it might have been with a male lead. The love story with “whatshername” seems more equal and less “hump and dump” than with a guy, and the drug use more tragic and less “hey, look at me, I’m a heroic druggie!” than I have seen with male-oriented biopics. (Think the difference between, say, Hendrix, and Amy Winehouse…) 

 Johnny (Gari Galanski) and "whatshername" (Nancee Stieger) shooting up.

Oddly, I knew a heck of a lot more about heroin as a kid than I did about contemporary music...thanks to The Cross and the Switchblade and other religious books about drugs and gangs.

I should at least mention a few of the other performers. Kelsey Morrow carried the vocal duties for “St. Jimmy,” and she was the best vocal lead in the production. Jake Wattenbarger as Tunny captured the anguish of of war and injury - and looked a hell of a lot like Billie Joe Armstrong, although Armstrong never played that particular part. Nolan Long, a regular at TES, was rather strong as Will, the pothead loser who stays home. I don’t think I had ever heard him sing, but he was pretty good. And amusing as usual. Nancee Steiger who is good at everything, shined in her part as “whatshername.” And a few in the ensemble who always bring an amazing energy to the dance numbers. (Please don’t take it wrong if I don’t mention you - the ensemble was excellent and everyone contributed.) Corissa Garcia, Aron Clugston, Markelle Taylor, Kiera Gill, and Elizabeth Bomar, you guys stood out for energy and engagement. Rock on. 

 Will (Nolan Long), Johnny (Gari Galanski), and Tunny (Jake Wattenbarger)

 St. Jimmy (Kelsey Morrow)

As usual, I must commend The Empty Space for fantastic set design. From the floor (which had the entire song list) to the rolling couch to the slogans and posters on the walls, the atmosphere was perfect. Kudos to directors Perrin Swanson (no relation, but proud to share the name) and Mystie Peters for their vision for this. 

This show runs through the 23rd, so local folks might want to see it. TES is criminally inexpensive, so I never feel bad about grabbing a ticket and a cocktail or coffee there. Give it a shot.

***

Some personal stuff: 

During my first real crisis of faith this decade, a few Green Day songs have been meaningful to me. None more so than the quintessential misused graduation song, “Good Riddance.” That song was kind of my own personal anthem to both persons and institutions that were abusive to me and mine. Naturally, it has a badass violin part. If I hadn’t had a symphony concert in the middle of the run, I would have accepted the invite to be part of this production. Sigh. The sacrifices we make for art…

Anyway, I’ll just mention “Boulevard of Broken Dreams,” “Holiday,” “Extraordinary Girl,” “Wake Me Up When September Ends,” and “21 Guns” as additional favorites as songs from the musical. Again, “Holiday” seems to anticipate the Trump era in so many ways. Yeah, let’s embrace authoritarianism, wrap ourselves in the flag and faith, throw the Nazi salute at Il Toupeee, and kill the “fags” who disagree. Yeah, fuck that. 

So many of these songs speak to me. “Boulevard of Broken Dreams” is one of my all time favorite songs, and the video was filmed in my beloved Mojave Desert.  It has been a source of bonding with my eldest.

But is has to be “Good Riddance” that has been the genuine soundtrack for my break from, well, a lot of things. Evangelicalism, of course. But really, Billie Joe Armstrong wrote it as a breakup song for an ex, and it really captures the bittersweet essence of breaking up with...whatever. I have never had a nasty romantic breakup (that goes along with marrying your first real girlfriend - who is an amazing woman who you truly want to spend the rest of your life with), but I have had some truly traumatic breakups with my religious tradition and certain members of my extended family, some of whom I have retained a  relationship with - in a decidedly modified form - and others of which I have no relationship with because of their abusive behavior. And ditto for a few people in my religious history who went behind my back to propagate hate. 

Yet, when I look back, my personal and religious background also made me who I am. 

So take the photographs and still frames in your mind

Hang it on a shelf in good health and good time

Tattoos of memories and dead skin on trial

For what it's worth it was worth all the while

That’s absolutely me. I am, for better or for worse, a product of my upbringing. The good and bad of my parents, religion, religious leaders, politics, and extended family. My 40 years spent in Evangelicalism, my upbringing in Cultural Fundamentalism. Those memories and dead skin on trial - they made me who I am. Were they worth it? Hell if I know, but it’s not like I had a choice when it came to my family. And I can’t say I really should have known to reject my religious tradition until it became obviously toxic. There were good times too. It made me what I am, for better or for worse. 

But, as I have deconstructed things over the last decade or so, “Good Riddance” has been on my playlist for those late nights when I have been working through my baggage. In some ways, it has been permission to let go of those ideas - and people - who have been toxic in my life. 

Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road

Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go

So make the best of this test and don't ask why

It's not a question, but a lesson learned in time

Those moments, those turning points in my past (and I can think of specific dates…) were indeed moments when time grabbed me by the wrist, and I had no real choice where to go. It wasn’t so much that I had a real decision to make, as that I had to learn a lesson. Evangelicalism wasn’t some benign religion, but a fucking white supremacist political movement. My family wasn’t ever going to truly accept the choices my wife and I made, but would insist on imposing 1850s gender roles and expectations on us. It was a lesson learned in time. I don’t really have to ask why (although I certainly do ask why, as a matter of theological necessity to myself), but I do have to learn the lesson. I hope I have. 

But at every major turning point in the road over the last decade, I have played this song as I have tried to deconstruct my own trauma. There is something about it, the combination of rejection of the past with the acknowledgement that who we are is totally about the reality we were raised in, that resonates with us Fundie survivors today. I wouldn’t give up who I am, even as I acknowledge how my past has traumatized me. And yes, Green Day is part of who I am as well. And for that I am thankful.