Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier

Source of book: I own this in a lovely hardback edition.

I am not entirely sure how to review this book. The problem is, one of the biggest thrills of the book is the slow reveal of the story, so any spoilers are problematic. The best I think I can do is to talk about the writing, about some of the important themes, and leave the plot almost unexamined. And, I can talk about Menabilly.

First, about the author. Daphne du Maurier was born in 1907 to a literary family. She was quite beautiful, as pictures of her as a young - and older - woman amply demonstrate. She married Sir Frederick Browning at age 25, by which time she was already becoming a successful author. The marriage was, well, interesting. Many who knew her thought she acted pretty frostily toward her husband, and also toward her children, particularly when she was on a writing binge. It is hard to tell how much of this reputation derives from the actual facts (which aren’t that many - she was fairly private, and became more so as she became more famous) and how much stems from her brilliant writing about unhappy marriages. On the one hand, perhaps she wrote what she knew. On the other, both James Thurber and P. G. Wodehouse both wrote hilariously about shrewish women and henpecked men - and both were devoted to their wives, who were, by all accounts, loving and delightful. So skilled writing isn’t necessarily autobiographical.

However, there is one sort of creepy autobiographical note in Rebecca. The central “character,” if you will, is the estate, Manderley, which the characters inhabit. The estate isn’t just land, though: it is an old house built in Elizabethan times. Nowadays, perhaps we think of Downton Abbey when we Americans think of an old estate house. Or, for some of us, we might think of Pemberley (you do not want to know how many lines from Pride and Prejudice I can use in ordinary conversation.) But I suspect for millions in the 1940s, Manderley was what came to mind.

But what of du Maurier’s connection with the estate? Well, before writing Rebecca, she ran across an old house in Cornwall on the Menabilly estate. It had been abandoned by the hereditary owners - the Rashleighs - and couldn’t be sold because of an entailment. (My understanding of Victorian literature was aided immensely by my law school education. The US doesn’t do entailments, but we had to spend quite a bit of time learning about the Common Law background of real property law in order to understand American law. “Who owns Blackacre?” is the most memorable question in law school…) du Maurier snuck onto the estate to view the house, and fell in love. For a decade and a half, she would from time to time go on the estate, finally entering the decrepit house itself through an unlatched window. She asked permission after a couple visits, which were granted. Eventually, circumstances changed, and the new heir agreed to let du Maurier lease the home - and restore it. She poured what must have been an obscene amount of money into the house, but she did indeed restore it to sparkling condition. She would live there until her death. I tried to find a modern picture of the house, but was unable to. There are a few older pictures, but the owners do not make it available for tours or photography. 

 Menabilly

So, after seeing a decayed house, du Maurier patterned the estate in Rebecca after it, also borrowing elements of the plot from Jane Eyre (and possibly after a Brazilian novel - which itself may have been plagiarized.)  In any event, the broad plot itself isn’t that uncommon - it is the details and the writing that distinguish it.

The basic plot idea is this (and this isn’t much of a spoiler, more a teaser): the narrator is a naive young woman who is employed as a “lady’s companion” for a tacky older woman. In Monte Carlo, she meets the dashing and mysterious Maximillian de Winter, who is apparently haunted by the drowning death of his wife a few months prior. After a whirlwind romance, he proposes, they are married, and then return to his estate at Manderley, where things go wrong. His first wife, Rebecca, appears to have been the most beautiful, best loved women ever, competent in everything, and beloved by almost everyone. Rebecca’s former maid - now housekeeper - Mrs. Danvers, is obsessively devoted to the memory of Rebecca, and torments the new Mrs. de Winter with her inadequacies.

Beyond that, I will not go. The beauty of the book is in the writing. Du Maurier was a skilled writer, and balanced evocative descriptions and lovely turns of phrase with haunting emotion and foreboding. The story is told by the new Mrs. de Winter - we never learn her name - and we learn the dark secrets of Manderley a tiny bit at a time just as she does. Just a bit here, then a bit more later, until all is revealed - but not quite all until the very last sentence in the book. Darn good writing for that reason alone.

The first line too is one of the most memorable in all of literature: “Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again.” Also “memorable” is the line (which isn’t actually in the book as far as I can tell, but might as well be) “You can never go back to Manderley again.” The last line is superb too - but I won’t reveal it. You will have to read the book.

And the themes. First of all, psychopaths make good characters when handled well. Crime and Punishment still haunts me nearly two decades after I read it. Roger Chillingworth still gives me the shivers. Pozdnyshev from The Kreutzer Sonata was all the more disturbing because he was at some level an autobiographical representation of Tolstoy himself.  (Feel free in the comments to mention more outstanding psychopathic characters in the comments.)

The part that is most disturbing about Rebecca I think is that it legitimately makes murder seem like a viable response to psychopathy. Because it may well have been the only way to stop this particular psychopath. (And the eventual reveal of the psychopath’s own role in his or her death is also quite uncomfortable.) And because du Maurier unbalances the reader’s own sense of ethics and morality. It is not pleasant to root for the “wrong” people and the ethically questionable result in this book. But that is what good authors can do: make the world a bit less black and white.

On a related note, one of the reasons this is so successful is that du Maurier taps into a primal fear of men. Something that goes back to our animal ancestry and our Darwinian instincts. We fear that we will be tricked - or worse forced - to rear the offspring of another male. One conceived by the unfaithfulness of our wife. Particularly when she rubs our nose in it. (Hey, I do family law - I’ve seen it. Here in California, a man may very well pay over a decade of child support even though the child is provably not his.

Another theme that I found interesting is the growth of the protagonist. I found her mostly annoying. She isn’t my kind, clearly, and I would never have married someone like that. But as a character, she is fascinating. And she does indeed change significantly and believably, which is a sign of good writing. Du Maurier also invites speculation. Would things have gone differently if the protagonist had done things differently? Would the reader have made different choices? I had an inner dialogue going the entire time I was reading a book for that reason. One isn’t just drawn into the story, but into the inner lives of the characters.

But another question appears from the other side, given du Maurier’s personal history. What would she have been willing to do in order to become mistress of Menabilly? Would she have married her husband for it? Did she? (Well, not exactly, but...it wouldn’t have been entirely impossible if the dates had lined up better.) And, following from that, just how much was du Maurier like Rebecca?

My wife strongly recommended I read this book, and, as usual, she was right. It is quite a good read, and a definite classic.

***

Just for fun: Irish singer Enya owns a Victorian era “castle” which she renamed Manderley Castle. Like many celebrities, she has a few too many overzealous stalker fans, and has had several people go over her walls. Apparently, she is one of the sorts that actually needs a castle. Who knew? 

***

UPDATE 2024:

This was our selection for Spooky Lush this year, and our club loved it. I re-read it via audiobook, and saw some things I missed the first time. 

For one thing, it is striking how little happens in the book. You could summarize every plot point in a total of two pages. Most of what happens is all in the protagonist's head. And my goodness does she create a lot. 

Second, and maybe this struck me more because of the audiobook, that scene where Mrs. Danvers shows the protagonist Rebecca's clothes is erotic as hell. I mean, underwear and everything, and oblique references to her body. 

We had a bit of an argument over exactly how far this went, but it is clear at minimum that Mrs. Danvers was erotically obsessed with Rebecca. (Doubly creepy because of the age difference, but as my adult kid pointed out, this was a thing for lesbian literature of the era.) Whether it was consummated is another question, but Rebecca doubtlessly used this as a way to use Mrs. Danvers to her own ends. 

There are more lesbian references too. Maxim says that Rebecca's desires were "not natural," and implies that she had both male and female lovers. When Favell accuses Maxim of murder, he boasts that he was Rebecca's lover since childhood. Mrs. Danvers retorts that Rebecca never loved him - or anyone else. Only her. Yeah, interesting. 

This led me to do some more poking around about du Maurier's own sexuality and found some interesting things. She clearly had a hard unrequited crush on another woman, and later an affair with a woman (who earlier had a fling with the author's father...) It also appears that her relationship to gender was complicated as well. 

The Guardian has a great article on all of this. 

Fascinating stuff, and a good book to re-read.

Bold Spirit by Linda Laurence Hunt

Source of book: Lent to me by a friend

This is one of the sort of books that I might never have discovered had a friend not drawn my attention to it. Published by University of Idaho Press in 2003, this particular book was a discard from a Utah library. It is, fortunately, still in print, but hard to find in libraries. 

This true story is both an inspiring triumph, and a tragedy on two completely different levels. The worst part is knowing what might have been, had circumstances been different.

In 1896, a Scandinavian immigrant (kind of like mine) named Helga Estby took a bold chance at fortune in order to save her family’s farm. She accepted a wager that she and her adult daughter could walk from Spokane, Washington, to New York City in 7 months, unaccompanied, and on foot, earning their way as the went. The prize was to be $10,000 - about $200,000 in 2003 funds, enough to pay the mortgage and save the farm. They left Helga’s husband and other children (including a toddler) and set out with little more than the clothes on their back, a revolver and pepper spray gun, and a curling iron. When they successfully completed the trip, the other party refused to perform, and they were left destitute in New York. Meanwhile, two of her children succumbed to diphtheria, the rest never forgave her, and her plans to write and sell a book based on the trip never came to pass. Later, one of her children burned her notes about the trip. Helga never talked about it, and her granddaughter later had to find out about the family secret by chance. The author of this book reconstructed the journey from the various newspaper accounts of the time. Helga was to check in with the governors of each state, and supported herself by selling pictures of herself and her daughter and by giving interviews along the way.

Helga got a bit of a rough start in life. She came to the United States as a child, but quickly learned the language and seemed to be headed for a promising education. However, under circumstances that were hushed up, she became pregnant at age 15. As was the usual thing in the time, she was hastily married off - to an older man who was very likely not the father. Because of the secrecy surrounding the situation, the child, Clara, did not find out about her parentage - or her true age - until she was an adult. And even then, nobody even told who the father was. The author speculates that Helga may have been raped by an employer, which is why she didn’t marry Clara’s father.

Helga would go on to have eleven children in 20 years, only 6 of which survived to adulthood. It is hard to know if she felt stifled in her life, but the fact that she took the chance to take a wild trip may be an indication that she needed to get away.

The circumstances leading up to the quest were all to commonplace. Her husband, a hardworking and decent man, had the misfortune to suffer an injury at the time of the 1893 panic, and he had difficulty supporting the family, even with Helga and the girls taking on odd jobs. Every time there is a financial meltdown - and this one, like the Great Depression and the most recent recession were caused by the financial shenanigans of the bankers and ultra-rich. And, as in the others, it was the poor that tended to pay for the sins of the rich. They are the ones who starved and suffered.  Falling behind on payments, it was obvious to Helga that the bank would take their farm if she didn’t find a way out. And she did, in the incredibly bold way that was available to her.

Helga had an incident earlier which may have given her courage to make the attempt. She had fallen and injured herself due to a construction site on the road which was not lit nor marked. She suffered significant damage to her uterus. She underwent risky and innovative surgery (which was successful, as she had a few more children, and, well, walked across the continent), and also sued the city and the builder for her damages. At the time, the idea of describing in lurid detail the distinctly female damages - to an all male jury of course - was a bit scandalous. But how else was she to get compensation? She won, although the award was on the low side.

Of necessity, the details are a bit sparse in this book. Hunt does an admirable job of creating a compelling narrative out of limited materials. On the one hand, she has to speculate a good bit as to Helga’s experiences. Good grief is it a shame her notes were burned! What a loss. But on the other, I appreciate that Hunt took the time to give the back stories on some of the figures that Helga met with on the trip, from suffragettes to political figures. It was particularly fun that Helga came out in favor of the progressive (and a bit demagogic) William Jennings Bryan (famous both for his campaign slogans about the gold standard and for his later involvement in the Scopes trial.) The younger Clara, however, was a McKinley fan. Politics may have divided the two, but they apparently sparred with each other in good nature. Later, after the walk, Helga would actively participate in the suffrage movement, sometimes to the embarrassment of her more conservative family. Helga clearly violated the “acceptable” role for her gender in her culture.

One of the interesting things in the introduction to this book is that the author mentions Jerry Jenkins’ book, A Walk Across America. I read that book as a teen - it’s great and a lot of fun. But Jenkins walked at a time when it was okay to do so - and he did so as a man, not a woman. So he made some good money off of it (and bully for him) while Helga’s manuscript was burned in embarrassment.

There are a number of other gems from this book. One was the account of the political fights over prostitution in Spokane. In that delightful patriarchal culture, there were those who argued that prostitutes were necessary so that single men wouldn’t rape innocent women. Yeah, sacrifice the virtue of some to save that of many. It went well with the other side, which moralized about letting the wicked women into the community. Nobody challenged the basic patriarchal assumptions, of course.

Last year, I read The Mechanical Horse by Margaret Guroff which spoke at length of all the bizarre medical theories about women and exercise. This book touches on them, specifically noting the way that female helplessness was cultivated among the privileged - something the working class women were never afforded. Helga worked her butt off on the farm just as my own ancestors did. The idea that physical exertion would damage the reproductive capacity would have been so obviously ludicrous to my fertile forbearers. (And my wife - we do have five kids despite the fact that she averages 5 miles on her feet every shift she works.)

Ah, and speaking of other sexist stuff, how about the fact that before, during, and after the trek, a major concern expressed by others was that Helga and Clara were “risking their virtue” by hiking without a man to protect them. Because, well, if they got raped, it would totally be their fault, right?

There are some interesting things about this fear and the reality that the women encountered. First, while the fear was usually expressed that the hobos which frequented the rail lines that the women would follow (in lieu of roads - which were non-existent many places), it turned out that with very few exceptions, the hobos were surprisingly polite and supportive. The down-and-out and marginalized recognized each other. Who knew? (Actually, this has been my experience growing up in the almost-ghetto. There are crazy people, but most fears of the poor and homeless are irrational.)

Helga did have to deal with some aggressive and dangerous sorts. She found the pepper gun (which shot a spray of cayenne powder) to be highly effective. She also put a bullet into an aggressive and possibly insane man’s leg and “rolled him down the hill” as she said later.

Perhaps most interesting is that she found that political circumstances made a difference. In Wyoming, the quintessential Wild West state, they had become the first state to let women vote - and Helga found that she had little to no harassment. Political clout translated to safety for women, in direct contradiction to the naysayers of then - and now - who claimed women in the public sphere would invite assault and rape.

In contrast, she and Clara had the most difficulty in Pennsylvania. And not from the hobos, but from the macho steel and rail workers. Kind of like politics today. The more things change...

As part of the wager, Helga and Clara were required to wear “new women’s” styles. That is, skirts that showed the ankles, and covered leggings. This was the new athletic wear, replacing the floor-length skirts - although not quite to the level of bloomers, which female bicyclists wore. This caused its own scandal, naturally. But as advocates for the new style pointed out, “Until woman is allowed to have ankles, there is no hope for her brains.” Hey, I wrote a whole series on the connection between Modesty Culture and the subordination of women.

Political issues definitely came into this book as well. Although Helga’s notes were destroyed, we have records of what she said to the media during the trek. One of the key reasons that she supported Bryan is that she agreed with his assertion that a government that did not restrain its strongest citizens from injuring the weak failed to do its duty. This was at the end of the first Gilded Age. We are now in the second Gilded Age, with most of the exact same issues re-emerging, from the KKK and its ideas crawling out from under its rock, to the question of whether it is moral to let capital exploit labor. On this note, reformers like Jane Addams (mentioned at length) and many clergy (back when clergy weren’t shills for the GOP) argued that Christians “needed to help change the unjust structures that brutalized the vulnerable, not just provide individual charity after the fact.”

[I have spent some of my spare time today arguing with supposed “Christians” who are espousing the philosophy of Ayn Rand, Ludwig von Mises, and Murray Rothbard as if it was gospel truth. The more things change…]

The book ends with an extended philosophical musing on the silencing of stories. As those of us who study history have noticed, too often, history is written by the victors, by the powerful. The victims don’t tend to get the chance to tell their side, nor do the “little people” who often become pawns. In this case, there was a fantastic story. Helga was a badass, make no mistake, and it would have been so nice if she had been able to tell her story. But, like most women of the era - particularly those who were “respectable,” her story was silenced. By family, by friends, and ultimately by herself, as she chose to withdraw into herself rather than endure the hurt inflicted by those who condemned her for leaving her place as a woman.

But her story has been finally told, even if it is in truncated form. How many more stories have never and will never be told? We may never know. But these stories are important, and it is vitally important now that we tell these stories, despite the blowback from those who insist that the conventional, patriarchal, white supremacist stories are all that matter.

As the author says,

Every country needs individuals who refused to be silenced when breaking out of unhealthy cultural norms, despite the criticism.

This is my goal too. I have lost some friends over what I write, particularly when I challenge the dominant narrative. It is sad that it is necessary, but we are fighting right now against cultural norms which are not merely unhealthy, but outright malevolent toward the poor, the immigrant, the non-white, and the female. These stories need to be told - and heard. And we need to move toward a future when these stories are not suppressed, but celebrated. May it be so for my children. 

***

Seriously people, diphtheria is nasty. It killed entire families in a few days, preying particularly on children. Thank god and scientists we have a vaccine now to protect against it. Ignore the conspiracy mongers and vaccinate your kids!

Ragtime (the Musical)

A month or so ago, my wife and kids were downtown, and they drove by the marquee for Stars Theater, and my eldest saw that they were going to be doing Ragtime. My older son (who adores live theater of all kinds) also begged to go. It turned out we were going to have some of my girls’ best friends staying with us anyway while their parents were out of town, so it seemed a perfect time to put together an event. Because my wife had recently seen another production of the musical, it was my turn to go while my wife stayed with the little kids.

I wasn’t all that familiar with Ragtime, although I knew the name. I had kind of assumed it had been written in the 1970s (and it turns out the book on which it was based was). Rather, it was written in the 1990s - a fairly modern musical.

The musical is set in the era of Ragtime - the 1910s and the runup to World War One. Three separate threads come together. The first is the story of an upper class white family from New Rochelle, NY. The father (none of the family have actual names) leaves to explore the North Pole with Peary, leaving the mother in charge of the family. The second is the story of Coalhouse Walker, an African American musician from Harlem, and Sarah, the mother of his child. The third tells of Tateh, a Jewish-Latvian immigrant and his daughter. These three disparate experiences of America continue to be relevant today, 100 years after the setting. We still are struggling with the same issues: hostility toward immigrants and people of color, the fight for a living wage for working class laborers, police indifference and brutality, the use of sexual moralism to justify racism, and the adjustment to a more global and diverse world.

In addition to the main characters (which are fictional), there are a host of real-life people that make appearances. Harry Houdini, representing the immigrant who made good, Henry Ford and J. P. Morgan representing different kinds of capitalists, Peary as the spirit of modern exploration, Evelyn Nesbit the chorus girl with the too-lurid-to-be-true-except-it-was life, anarchist Emma Goldman, Booker T. Washington, and others. 

 Kelci Cerri as Evelyn Nesbit

Stars publicity photo.

The original production was a financial failure, not because it was unpopular (it did sell well) but because of the lavishly expensive production costs. The version we saw was more realistic in its budget, while retaining the key elements, including a live (if smaller) band, and a large cast.

The themes in this musical are best described as “adult,” not in the risque sense, but in the “problems that we adults are responsible for solving” sense. There is also some language - most painfully the realistic and necessary use of racial epithets. Racism and xenophobia have had a resurgence in the last few years, rising inequality and oppression plague us. Those of us who believe black lives matter are again called “nigger lovers” - although not in those exact words. Immigrants are still blamed for our problems, as a distraction from the fading power of labor and declining wages. But the dream of an America that is for all of us remains, and the arts community (among others) continue to fight to make it so.

Music is (naturally) the backbone of the story. It was with ragtime that African American music went mainstream, and pop music would never be the same. In the century to come, jazz, blues, rock and roll, soul, Motown, funk, and hip hop would each become, in a real way, America’s music. (Aaron Copland was one of the first to recognize that the truly American sound wasn’t the pseudo-European music of the upper classes, but the sound of the common man, from Appalachian bluegrass to Negro spirituals.)

And then, as now, there were plenty who were panic-stricken over the new music, and called it the devil’s work. People like Grandfather, who wanted Coalhouse to play some “coon music,” which Coalhouse points out was written by white people for white people, to conform to popular stereotypes. Ragtime was different. It was sophisticated and subversive, irresistible and danceable, and unashamedly black. Joplin was the first in a line of true originals, paving the way for Duke Ellington, Chuck Berry, James Brown, Lamont Dozier, and so many more. Our nation - and our world - is so much the richer because of them.

While Ragtime has some heavy themes, it also has some great humor. Evelyn Nesbit is played for laughs as well as pathos, the baseball game episode is hilarious (my kids were in stitches), and the very serious song “He Wanted to Say” ends with Younger Brother giving up on trying to express his feelings, and just saying “I know how to blow things up.”

Since this was a local production, there were plenty of familiar faces. I naturally knew many in the band (unsung heroes of any production…) My daughters’ friends are in drama, so they knew many in the cast and crew. There were some great newer faces too.

For the most part, the singing was solid, and the acting as well. There were, as always, some real standouts that I think should be recognized. Jennifer Prow, who is a veteran of local theater (I think she may have been in Hello Dolly back when I was in the orchestra 20ish years ago) turned in an excellent performance as Mother, hitting the right emotional notes as she found herself changing from obliviously privileged to compassionate and aware. 

 Little Boy (Mac Medeiros), Younger Brother (Jake Wattenbarger), Father (Tim Armijo), Grandfather (Norman Colwell), and Mother (Jennifer Prow)

Stars publicity photo.

Guy Martin is a prow, who owned his scenes as Tateh. I hope to see him around town in more productions. 

 Tateh (Guy Martin) and Little Girl (Giselle Alaniz) 

Stars publicity photo.

Tevin Joslen was fantastic as Coalhouse. He’s a young guy with a good voice, strong acting chops, fluid dance moves, and a bright future. In his bio, he talks about the experience of being biracial, which added a layer of depth to his performance.

The most electrifying performance of the night went to Caley Mayhall as Sarah. I don’t think I have seen Mayhall in a lead role before. She is a Bakersfield native who came back home - and we are glad to have her. After her first song, I just sat there stunned. An incredible, powerful, expressive voice. She could have carried it without amplification, and the passion and emotion were so real. She and Joslen had strong chemistry too - and their duet was tight. Keep an eye on these two.

Coalhouse Walker (Tevin Joslen) and Sarah (Caley Mayhall)

Stars publicity photo.

Ragtime runs through next weekend. Come and hear the Symphony on Saturday, but go see Ragtime too.

***

I think this phenomenal Langston Hughes poem fits so well with Ragtime.

Let America be America Again

Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.

(America never was America to me.)

Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed—
Let it be that great strong land of love
Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
That any man be crushed by one above.

(It never was America to me.)

O, let my land be a land where Liberty
Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,
But opportunity is real, and life is free,
Equality is in the air we breathe.

(There’s never been equality for me,
Nor freedom in this “homeland of the free.”)

Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?
And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?

I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,
I am the Negro bearing slavery’s scars.
I am the red man driven from the land,
I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek—
And finding only the same old stupid plan
Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.

I am the young man, full of strength and hope,
Tangled in that ancient endless chain
Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!
Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!
Of work the men! Of take the pay!
Of owning everything for one’s own greed!

I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.
I am the worker sold to the machine.
I am the Negro, servant to you all.
I am the people, humble, hungry, mean—
Hungry yet today despite the dream.
Beaten yet today—O, Pioneers!
I am the man who never got ahead,
The poorest worker bartered through the years.

Yet I’m the one who dreamt our basic dream
In the Old World while still a serf of kings,
Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,
That even yet its mighty daring sings
In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned
That’s made America the land it has become.
O, I’m the man who sailed those early seas
In search of what I meant to be my home—
For I’m the one who left dark Ireland’s shore,
And Poland’s plain, and England’s grassy lea,
And torn from Black Africa’s strand I came
To build a “homeland of the free.”

The free?

Who said the free?  Not me?
Surely not me?  The millions on relief today?
The millions shot down when we strike?
The millions who have nothing for our pay?
For all the dreams we’ve dreamed
And all the songs we’ve sung
And all the hopes we’ve held
And all the flags we’ve hung,
The millions who have nothing for our pay—
Except the dream that’s almost dead today.

O, let America be America again—
The land that never has been yet—
And yet must be—the land where every man is free.
The land that’s mine—the poor man’s, Indian’s, Negro’s, ME—
Who made America,
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,
Must bring back our mighty dream again.

Sure, call me any ugly name you choose—
The steel of freedom does not stain.
From those who live like leeches on the people’s lives,
We must take back our land again,
America!

O, yes,
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
And yet I swear this oath—
America will be!

Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
We, the people, must redeem
The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
The mountains and the endless plain—
All, all the stretch of these great green states—
And make America again!

***

And, because we all need some more Scott Joplin in our lives.