Love at First Sight

I do not believe in love at first sight. Never have.

But.

I met Amanda when I was in Law School. A mutual friend gave her dad my number when he mentioned he was looking for a law student to do some freelance work on a few cases, so my brother and I (also in law school) drove down for a meeting with him.

Amanda was filling in for her dad’s usual secretary that day. I took a seat in the lobby to wait for him, when this beautiful young lady in a red gingham dress came in and informed me that he would be with me shortly.

I have no idea why, but when I saw her, I thought, “I’m going to marry her.”

I never do stuff like that. I always assumed that marriage would happen as a result of careful planning. Better to make a logical and informed decision. Rash decisions make for poor matches, right?

But I knew.

I found out later that she knew as well.

I didn’t ask her out for over a year, however. She was young, not quite eighteen at that first meeting, and I still had a ways to go in school. So, for the time, we were just friends.

Her dad and I have a lot in common, particularly our mutual love of the outdoors, so I found excuses to visit them in their mountain home. Sure, I wanted to go hiking, but I wanted to see her, to be around her.

We eventually ended up “not dating.” Meaning, we were, I guess, sort of dating without exactly admitting it to ourselves. (See below.) Playing tennis, hanging out with my sister as the third wheel. (She was a good sport about it.) Obviously, we were interested in each other, but we weren’t really dating.

Near the end of my last year of school, I had to take the plunge. There was a Shakespeare production at a local theater, and my sister had other obligations, so a group outing wouldn’t work. And, honestly, I wanted to be with Amanda.

So I asked her out. I think it took her a little while to realize what I had done, because she first reminded me that my sister wouldn’t be there. I informed her that I was aware of that fact. Now, this complicated things. She told me she would go, but I had to ask her dad first. I expected that, and have never had any fear of “the parents.” Girls might be inclined to reject me, but never parents. Permission was easy to obtain, and I did.

One way or another, I found out (before the date) that Amanda had trouble sleeping that night, and worried that she had overcommitted. (Again, see below.) How could I ease her mind? Well, there is the Way of the Lawyer™.

I drew up a “contract” wherein we clarified our dating relationship. (Yes, this was very tongue-in-cheek.) I made it clear that going on a date with me did not bind her to marriage, going steady, or even a second date. She could come with me, get to know me, and decide if she wanted to see more of me. No obligations. No hard feelings.

She wanted a second date. And many after that. We knew.

One day, she had been at the mall with my sister. She said to me, out of the blue, “I found my ring. When are you going to propose?” So I guess you could say she is the one who proposed to me. But we both knew we were getting married by that time anyway.

I didn’t formally propose for a few more months. Hey, I was studying for the bar exam, and supporting myself on part time work.

It takes three months after the exam to get the results back. During that time, we remember all the mistakes we made, and none of the good stuff. Not fun at all.

On Memorial Day weekend of 2000, I found I had passed. That night, I presented Amanda with a ring. It would be another year until we married, but from then on, we were official.

Looking back on the first date fourteen years ago today, I feel like I’ve always known Amanda. We can’t imagine a better match. Sure, we used our brains and looked for red flags and all that, but we knew. The first time we saw each other. 

 During our dating years. Wow, we look young...

Note about “Not Dating”:

I was going to just write up the story itself, but realized as I went on that it would be impossible to understand without a little background knowledge. Over the last few years, I have been surprised to discover that a number of my friends with similar backgrounds also did the “not dating” thing. Those who grew up in a normal modern American household would probably have no idea why one would do this. 

Regular readers will remember that I spent my teen years under the influence of Christian Patriarchist Bill Gothard, and that Amanda spent hers in Jonathan Lindvall’s home church.

Gothard is a big proponent of “courtship.” (The best known book on this is I Kissed Dating Goodbye by Josh Harris.) Lindvall takes it further to what he calls “betrothal.”

For those unfamiliar, “courtship” is a rejection of dating. The man decides to pursue a girl, asks her father’s permission to “court,” and the couple is, for practical purposes, engaged. They are actively pursuing marriage, and it is very bad if they break up, because they have given pieces of their hearts to each other. (This is why they reject dating - they consider breaking up to be practice for divorce.)

On paper, there are some things to like about the idea. I liked not having the pressure to be in a relationship during high school. I wanted to eventually find a wife, so the general idea of only dating courting someone that I considered a potential spouse made sense.

The other ideas that came with it, however, are problematic. There is strong pressure to never break off a courtship. The agreement to court is considered the same as an engagement, except more so. This is particularly true once the change is made from basic “courtship” to the betrothal model. (In my opinion, many of those who use the term “courtship” tend to really mean “arranged marriage” if you dig deep enough. Douglas Phillips comes to mind.)

In my case, I was allowed - encouraged in fact - to have friendships with the opposite sex. Group activities were common, and I feel I got to know a number of interesting young women. I remain friends with several to this day.

In Lindvall’s system - and in that of most of the Christian Patriarchy systems - boys and girls are expected to be segregated. No friendships. No emotional entanglement. (I hope to do a future post on this one.)

The vision is this: the young person is guided by his parents (who have absolute authority over even adult children) to the right person. Once the decision is made that they will become betrothed, then they are allowed to develop a relationship.

Money quotes here:

How are we going to know it's the right person? God will speak, and God has revealed in His word that He speaks through authorities in all of our lives....the decision of whom to marry is based entirely on God's will confirmed by our authorities, with a confidence that God would bring romance to us as a blessing of our obedience...God wants young people to honor their parents...by voluntarily submitting their choice of a marriage partner to them.

And this:

In the Biblical model of ‘betrothal’, the decision to marry is made based on God’s will, confirmed by parents and other authorities, rather than emotional and hormonal impulses. The betrothal period is provided for the emotions to catch up to the irrevocable decision made prayerfully and rationally. Our emotions are not to lead us, but to follow us.

Note that this is an “irrevocable” decision. Once betrothed, the couple has agreed to marry. Irrevocable consent before love. Also note that God isn’t expected to tell the couple. Just the “authorities.” (Parents and pastor, in this case.)

In light of that, it was natural that Amanda would worry that by agreeing to go out with me, she was agreeing to marry me. Now, she knew her parents wouldn’t view it that way. But she knew I came from a similar background, and we hadn’t specifically discussed this. For all she knew, I (and my parents) would consider us betrothed. She wasn’t quite sure she was ready for that kind of commitment, and I don’t blame her.

(For the record, my parents and her parents didn’t push courtship particularly hard, rejected the betrothal model, and let Amanda and me date without interference.)

It was this reason that led me to make it clear to Amanda that we were not “courting,” but dating. No strings. No commitment. No promises. Just a chance to fall in love.

It’s funny in retrospect, but that “contract” was originally between me and her father. Yeah, we weren’t completely sure how to handle things with all that baggage. I knew that my father-in-law would find it amusing (he did) and hoped that Amanda’s mind would be put at ease. (It was.)

If you want to read Lindvall’s account of the “ideal” betrothal and marriage, you can find the story of Matthew and Maranatha here.  They may be perfectly nice people, but I still find the story creepy. That whole Victorian thing of the experienced older man marrying the innocent young lady.

I would be remiss if I left out this excellent article by Eric Pazdziora, one of my favorite bloggers - and a musician and composer as well.  It also has some great links.

A good summary of Gothard’s views on, well, everything, was written by a former acolyte here. I disagree with many of her other opinions, but she does do a good job of laying out Gothardism and its problems.

And, since I feel a certain sense of obligation to my fellow man, here are the clauses from the contract for your own use:

DATING AGREEMENT

The undersigned,                and                    hereby agree to the following:

[Either]

1.             agrees to release his daughter,                 , to                 for one (1) date, on        [date].

[or]

1.             agrees to come with             on one (1) date, on        [date].

2.             agrees to make a good faith effort to provide                 with an enjoyable evening, and to refrain from any conscious acts that might hinder such enjoyment.

3.            agrees to avoid acts involving moral turpitude.

4.             and             agree that this date shall not be construed by either party to be a promise of marriage, an entry into betrothal, a declaration of intent to marry, or an entry into courtship for the purpose of preparing to marry on the part of either                 or             .

5.             and             agree that this date shall have the purpose of allowing             and             to enjoy each other’s company and get to know each other better.

6.             and             agrees to hold each other harmless for any and all liability arising out of the date for actions not involving moral turpitude, including, but not limited to the following: bonehead remarks, bad puns, unintentional insensitivity, awkward pauses, fumbling conversation, general clumsiness, and weird family quirks.

7.             and             agree not to overreact or assign unjustified significance to any and all statements and actions of each other during the date.

Date:                                       

[name]                        [name]

Daniel Deronda by George Eliot

Source of book: I own this. My wife found a hardback Everyman’s Library edition at a library sale for me.

This book was the August selection for the Reading To Know book club, but it took a bit longer than that to read. Here are the other reviews:

Carrie

Sky

Barbara

Heather

I would imagine most of us read Silas Marner as part of our assigned reading in high school. That was my introduction to George Eliot. I later read The Mill on the Floss, which has some autobiographical elements.

George Eliot was the pen name of Mary Ann Evans. She also went by Marian and Mary Anne at various times, but decided to write under a man’s name so that her novels would be taken seriously and not pigeonholed into the light romantic fluff associated with female writers. (A version of this prejudice continues today, of course.)

Eliot was considered to be rather unattractive, even at a young age, but was highly intelligent and a voracious reader. Her parents thus decided that an advantageous marriage was unlikely, and invested in her education. Like Christina Rossetti and Anne Bradstreet, she was able to gain an education unusual for women of the time.

George Eliot circa 1860, by Samuel Laurence. This is the most flattering picture of her I could find.

True to the expectation, she stayed home and kept house for her father from the death of her mother when she was sixteen until his death when she was thirty. After a year abroad, she returned to England and edited a political journal for several years.

In 1854, at age thirty-five, she began a relationship with George Henry Lewes, which was to last for the next twenty years until his death.

The problem was, Lewes was already married. He had an open marriage, and his wife had several children by another man. Since he knew of that affair, he lacked grounds to divorce her. She likewise, could not divorce him, because adultery wasn’t grounds for a woman to get a divorce, so they just went their separate ways. (For more peculiar rules regarding divorce in the Victorian and earlier eras, see my post on domestic violence.) So, Lewes and Eliot couldn’t marry. Had they lived a century later, they would have been able to marry, and thus avoid the stigma.

Now, having a longstanding affair like this was actually fairly commonplace in the Victorian Era. It wasn’t even all that scandalous if a man had a mistress. It was rather expected. But, a man had to be discreet. He should pretend the other woman didn’t exist. Lewes and Eliot made the social mistake of being open about their relationship. (Keep this thought in mind, because it becomes a key plot point.)

Daniel Deronda was Eliot’s last book. While Middlemarch is generally considered to be her masterpiece, there are many who make the argument in favor of Daniel Deronda. Since I have not read Middlemarch yet, I cannot weigh in. I can, however, highly recommend Daniel Deronda.

My edition of this book is 900 pages long. I am reasonably used to long books. I have read several over 500 pages this year. However, August was a busy month for me, and I got behind. It took a while to get through it.

Even by Victorian standards, this isn’t a short book. I believe one of the main reasons for this is that Eliot combined two books into one.

On the one hand, this is a tragedy. The tragedy of Gwendolyn Harleth, who marries for money against her conscience and better judgment, and pays (most) of the consequences, before being rescued by a deux ex machina at the end.

The other half of the tale is one of self-discovery by the title character and his eventual romance with the beautiful Jewess, Mirah Lapidoth.

Both plots tie together pretty well, but either could have stood alone - particularly the first one.

Gwendolyn is, in my opinion, one of the most fascinating female protagonists in Victorian literature. One of the clues as to Eliot’s gender is that she is far harsher to Gwendolyn than any male Victorian author could be. Her faults are not excused, but are dwelt on, and not lovingly. Still, Eliot makes her just sympathetic enough that she isn’t a villain. She is irritatingly entitled and egoistic, but one still doesn’t wish terrible things on her. And she certainly finds herself in an awkward position without a clear good choice.

Stunningly beautiful, and reasonably witty, she is expected by all to make an advantageous marriage. Sure, she is a bit full of herself, and her tongue has an acid edge, but she is young, and will presumably improve with a little age.

Two problems, though, interfere. First, she fears the dependency that marriage will bring. She has no intention of being ruled by a man. (Her mother’s unhappy second marriage gives her pretty good reason for anxiety.)

Second, her family loses its fortune. It wasn’t a big fortune to start with, but now she becomes responsible for the financial fortunes of her family. Her uncle the clergyman generously helps with their support, but he doesn’t have that much to share. Her mother intends to do some sewing for the little it will bring in, but it is Gwendolyn who is expected to become a governess until her great beauty snares an appropriately wealthy man.

Gwendolyn is not eager to submit to the role of governess, though. She has never been raised with employment in mind, and her proud spirit recoils at having to take orders.

“As to the sweetness of labour and fulfilled claims; the interest of inward and outward activity; the impersonal delights of perpetual discovery; the dues of courage, fortitude, industry...these, even if they had been eloquently preached to her, could have been no more than faintly apprehended doctrines…”

This is an interesting mirror image of Eliot’s own experience. She was “ugly” and therefore was raised with the idea that she would have to find employment, income, and satisfaction in working with her hands or brains.

Perhaps this might have lent the bitter edge to her portrayal of Gwendolyn.

Enter Henleigh Grandcourt.

(Side note: I love the way this name rolls off the tongue. I am reminded of a similarly stuffy British name in the character of Heneage Dundas - a minor character in Patrick O’Brian’s books.)

Grandcourt is blessed with, not one, but two likely inheritances. He got his father’s property, of course. He is also in line to receive the property of his uncle, Sir Hugo Mallinger (another delightful character), who had the misfortune to have only daughters. This is a source of distress to the good-natured, if a bit clueless Sir Hugo, as his own family will be relatively impoverished while his nephew receives nearly everything.

Grandcourt takes a liking to Gwendolyn, and seems on the verge of proposing, when Gwendolyn makes an unpleasant discovery.

Grandcourt has another family already. In his younger years, he took up with the wife of an Irish military officer. She left her husband because he was abusive; so, by comparison, Grandcourt seemed like a welcome change, even if they couldn’t marry. (Again, enter those Victorian marriage laws: abuse was not grounds for a woman to obtain a divorce. Her husband could have divorced her due to her adultery, but chose not to out of spite.) So, Grandcourt never does marry Lydia, his mistress, but they have children together.

Gwendolyn meets Lydia and learns all, and essentially promises not to marry Grandcourt. Her prospective poverty, however, overcomes her scruples, and she marries Grandcourt. First and foremost, because she realizes this is the way she is expected to rescue her family (and, let it be said, herself) from poverty.

This is where the sexual politics get interesting. Grandcourt is in a position of power. He has a vast current and prospective fortune, which he has and will receive solely because he is male. Gwendolyn is impoverished. So, she already owes him big time.

Grandcourt isn’t a benevolent dictator either. He gets off on controlling others, and Gwendolyn is simply his latest pet. She is beautiful arm-candy, and he knows that he can get her to do whatever he wants. In fact, her resistance to his control makes his success all the sweeter.

I was reminded a bit of another written a decade later by George Meredith. I am determined that all of my children read The Egoist before they marry. Actually, anyone enamored of Victorian era marriage should read it. In that book, which is humorous where Daniel Deronda is dark, the wealthy and highly eligible Sir Willoughby sees woman as a mirror for himself to gaze in and see his own views and opinions reflected back. It is all about him, and women are just commodities in which he can revel: they confirm his high opinion of himself.

Where Willoughby is laughably clueless, but completely non-malicious, Grandcourt is truly malevolent. He “prefers command to love,” as Eliot puts it.

His behavior is never violent - or even outwardly angry. To an outsider, Gwendolyn even has a “good” marriage. But Grandcourt is undeniably abusive to her. He has the power, and enjoys bullying her. And, under the laws she lives under, she has no options. To leave would mean an even worse poverty, as her disgrace would prevent employment - except as a prostitute. And then, her family would suffer as well.

Even worse for Gwendolyn is her guilt concerning Lydia. She knows she has wronged her, but cannot at this point make things right. As Eliot puts it, the Furies have entered her marriage and pursued her. In her despair, she turns to Deronda for advice as to how to become a better person.

Who is Daniel Deronda? That is a question not answered until near the end of the novel. Deronda has been raised by Sir Hugo, who has never revealed his parentage. Everyone, including Deronda himself, suspects that he is Sir Hugo’s illegitimate son, but only Sir Hugo knows.

In the meantime, while he decides what he intends to do with himself for the rest of his life (he has a little income from those mysterious parents), he ends up rescuing Mirah from a suicide attempt. She has fled her abusive father, who attempted to sell her into prostitution, and had been looking for her mother and brother, who she hasn’t seen since she was a very small child.

Deronda locates the brother (the mother is long dead) by a series of coincidences, and becomes friends with him.

While this part of the plot is less convincing that the other, it contains some very interesting ideas. First of all, Eliot introduces the idea of Zionism - the quest to re-establish the nation of Israel - at a time when it was fairly new to non-Jews in Europe. I was a bit surprised to find it here. I was not surprised to find descriptions of anti-Semitism as it existed in Europe.

In the light of subsequent events, it was a bit jarring to see a note of optimism about the acceptance of Jews in Germany, to be sure. Eliot could not have foreseen the Holocaust, but details of her descriptions look prophetic in retrospect. (This would be an interesting future post. The connection of the Holocaust to millennia of anti-Semitism in Europe. Also the unfair portrayal of Nietzsche as a proto-Nazi and the whitewashing of Martin Luther’s anti-Semitic views in certain right-wing circles. I’ll think about it.)

There are also a few mentions of the Kabbalah, the Jewish version of mysticism. If you are interested in further fictional reading in this regard, I highly recommend the short stories of Isaac Bashevis Singer (not to be confused with Isaac Singer, the sewing machine magnate.)  

The two plots come together at a few crucial points. One is the contrast between Gwendolyn’s self absorption and Deronda’s compassion. She thinks nearly entirely of herself (and a little of her mother). Deronda is easily caught up in the emotion of empathy for those less fortunate - even Gwendolyn.

There is also the contrast between Gwendolyn, who fears work, and fears even more being subservient to anyone, with the Meyricks, who take in Mirah despite their own poverty. Gwendolyn has difficulty imagining life outside her privileged bubble, and it is only through Deronda’s encouragement that she is finally able to look outside herself.

I really wish I had the time and space to quote extensively from this book. There really are great lines throughout - often many on one page. From the opening scene with its description of wealthy gamblers (which could be a modern description of gamblers at Las Vegas, minus a little of the glitz), to the many potent zingers against social hypocrisy.

Particularly pricking are the ones on class and gender relations.

For example, in the description of Gwendolyn’s aunt, “Many of her opinions, such as those on church government and the character of Archbishop Laud, seemed too decided under every alteration to have been arrived at otherwise than by a wifely receptiveness.”

Or, of Grandcourt, “was good-looking, of sound constitution, virtuous or at least reformed…” Yes, a woman must be unstained and pure. A man can settle for “reformed” provided he has a nice little income.

Or the later observation that “Gwendolyn’s view of her position might easily have been no other than that her husband’s marriage with her was his entrance on the path of virtue, while [Lydia] Glasher represented his forsaken sin.”

Perhaps Gwendolyn’s flippant remark to Grandcourt, laced with more truth than she intends to share:

“We women can’t go in search of adventures - to find out the North-West Passage or the source of the Nile, or to hunt tigers in the East. We must stay where we grow, or where the gardeners like to transplant us. We are brought up like the flowers, to look as pretty as we can, and be dull without complaining. That is my notion about why some of them have got poisonous.”

Eliot plays more on this idea through the character of Deronda’s mother, who was forced by a domineering father into a marriage she did not desire. The pressure to be the good girl eventually overwhelmed her, leaving havoc behind.

Or maybe Eliot’s biting aside after Sir Hugo lightly dismisses the importance of birth in determining success, “as men after dining well often agree that the good of life is distributed with wonderful equality.” Touché.

This, contrasted with Deronda’s observation about wealth. “[I am] not rich, except in the sense that every one is rich who has more than he needs for himself.”

I might also go with Eliot’s perceptive notice that gambling is a refuge from dullness and boredom. (Ever watch a bingo game at a senior center? Just a little scary.)

“I don’t admit the justification,” said Deronda [to Gwendolyn]. “I think what we call the dullness of things is a disease in ourselves. Else how could any one find an intense interest in life? And many do.”

I also loved Deronda’s comment that age or novelty by itself should not be an argument for or against anything. Fashions - and ideas - must be weighed on their own merits, and not rejected or accepted just because of the comfort of habit or the thrill of the new.

Also, the exchange between Mrs. Meyrick and her outspoken daughter Kate.

“I notice mothers are like the people I deal with - the girls’ doings are always priced low.”

“My dear child, the boys are such a trouble - we should never put up with them, if we didn’t make believe they were worth more.”

It was also fun to learn a new word: calignosity. Calignous is “misty, dim; obscure, dark.” In context, Deronda prefers that he not know his origins, preferring “cheerful calignosity.” I love that.

Finally, I must note some great observations regarding music. Deronda attends a Jewish service, and is carried away by the power of the liturgy, even though he cannot understand it.

That “strongest effect of chanted liturgies which is independent of detailed verbal meaning - like the effect of an Allegri’s Miserere or a Palestrina’s Magnificat. The most powerful movement of a feeling with a liturgy is the prayer which seeks for nothing special, but is a yearning to escape from the limitations of our own weakness and an invocation of all Good to enter and abide with us; or else a self-oblivious lifting up of gladness, a Gloria in excelsis that such Good exists; both the yearning and the exultation gathering their utmost force from the sense of communion in a form which has expressed them both, for long generations of struggling fellow-men.”

Yes. A thousand times yes! If you have never experienced this, I pity you.

The most I can do is to introduce you to the two masterworks of the Renaissance era cited above. You can (and should be able to) enjoy and understand both without knowing the text. But, for the record, the Miserere is Psalm 51, written by King David after getting called on his sin of adultery with Bathsheba and his murder of her husband. (The text accompanies the music in this clip.)

The Magnificat is the song of the Virgin Mary from the Gospel of Luke, after she is told she will give birth to Christ. 

My soul doth magnify the Lord : and my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour.

For he hath regarded : the lowliness of his handmaiden.

For behold, from henceforth : all generations shall call me blessed.

For he that is mighty hath magnified me : and holy is his Name.

And his mercy is on them that fear him : throughout all generations.

He hath shewed strength with his arm : he hath scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts.

He hath put down the mighty from their seat : and hath exalted the humble and meek.

He hath filled the hungry with good things : and the rich he hath sent empty away.

He remembering his mercy hath holpen his servant Israel : as he promised to our forefathers, Abraham and his seed for ever. (translation from The Book of Common Prayer)

I’ll end with Deronda’s view of the place of music in the soul. Gwendolyn has given up singing after a true musician tells her she lacks the skill to be a professional. She rejects Deronda’s proposal she take it up again for pleasure and for the good it will do her.

“I don’t feel able to follow your advice of enjoying my own middlingness.”

“For my part,” said Deronda, “people who do anything finely always inspirit me to try. I don’t mean that they make me believe I can do it as well. But they make the thing, whatever it may be, seem worthy to be done. I can bear to think my own music not good for much, but the world would be more dismal if I thought music itself not good for much. Excellence encourages one about life generally; it shows the spiritual wealth of the world.”

“But then if we can’t imitate it? - it only makes our own life seem the tamer,” said Gwendolyn, in a mood to resent encouragement founded on her own insignificance.

“That depends on the point of view, I think,” said Deronda. “We should have a poor life of it if we were reduced for all our pleasure to our own performances. “

This is encouraging to me. I know the limitations of my own ability all too well, and it falls short of the perfection I desire. But excellence is worth pursuing for its own sake.

Anyway, I loved this book, and highly recommend it. Eliot is psychologically astute, and the conversations seem as if they could be from our own time, even though the institutions have changed. The main weaknesses are typical of the Victorian era: a sentimental ending, a too-neat resolution, a death from consumption, and the conformity at the end to the “damsel in distress” view of gender roles. Once one acknowledges the need to adhere to certain elements of the formula to sell books, one can enjoy Eliot’s solid command of narrative, pacing, and especially the language, which is rich and yet easily comprehensible.

Note on the Furies:

The Furies, also known as the Erinyes, were a group of female underworld deities in Greek mythology. (Eventually, it became common to refer to three of them.) They were goddesses of vengeance, pursuing those who did wrong, particularly those who broke oaths. They figure prominently in Aeschylus’ play cycle, the Oresteia, in which they relentlessly pursue the protagonists in vengeance for the ongoing blood feud within the family of Agamemnon.

They are thus fitting in this book, as they pursue Gwendolyn, who has broken her oath to Lydia.

The Remorse of Orestes or Orestes Pursued by the Furies, 1862 by William-Adolphe Bouguereau. I wonder if this painting partially inspired Eliot’s use in this book. It predated the book by just a few years.

Within the Context of No Context by George W. S. Trow

Source of book: borrowed from the library
Date originally posted to Facebook: January 25, 2011

I am gradually re-posting my old Facebook reviews to my blog. This book, which I read over two years ago, remains the weirdest book I have ever reviewed, and one of the weirdest that I have ever read.

This is, without doubt, an unusual book. It is put together from a series of essays written by the late Mr. Trow and published in The New Yorker.

Trow’s central thesis is that television has removed context and what he terms the “middle distance” from society, and has left it in the state of “no context”. While Trow never really defines the “middle distance”, he contrasts it with the extremes: intimacy and what he calls the “grid of 200 million”, that is, the population of the United States. Thus, people interacted with their intimate friends and relatives, and had the semblance of national life, centering around discussion of what was on television, but there was now missing the context in between.

In Trow’s view, the first step was the removal of history as context, and its replacement by demographics. Perhaps we would call this “market segmentation” these days. Television (and advertising) break us up into targeted blocks having demographics in common.

Secondly, adulthood became irrelevant. In the view of demographics, the preferences of a child were equally (or more) important that those of an adult. There was no longer a need to learn how to be an adult because perpetual childhood sold goods just as well. Nothing was judged any longer, only counted.

What this led to was a lack of any real sense of authority. Of course, this vacuum led to attempts to create authority, but only authority of a particular kind: that which gives a sense of comfort but doesn’t give a sense of inhibition.

The book is divided into two sections. The first bears the title of the book itself. The second is titled Within that Context: One Style. The first section deals specifically with the concepts I outlined above by short (often one sentence) paragraphs interspersed with longer narratives. The writing is elliptical and occasionally seems to float right out of context itself. As it goes on, however, it leads into extended discussions of People Magazine, celebrity in general, and a few specific instances. This section culminates in an extended, rambling story about the World’s Fair, at which Trow worked during his college days.

The second section is a bit longer than the first, and is nothing like it. Trow spends this entire section discussing Ahmet Ertegun, the principal figure at Atlantic Records. In this narrative, Trow discusses his dealings with Ertegun and his artists, including The Rolling Stones and Crosby, Stills & Nash. Trow’s point is to illustrate the culture of celebrity through the disconnected, rambling events experienced. I admit that I had a harder time with this section. Trow certainly dropped enough familiar names, but the nuances of the music business feel like they would be better placed in a story with that theme rather than one addressing a broad theme of culture.

Returning to the first section, which I feel was more on point; I was amazed at how Trow’s vision of television culture seemed to describe 2010, rather than 1981, when the book was published. Reality television, American Idol, and the rest demonstrate his theory that television would lead to everyone seeking the status of celebrity. One wonders what Trow would have thought had he lived to see it.

I suppose that I am a bit like Trow at heart. My family when I was growing up refused to purchase cable, and gradually watched less and less television. From age 16 until I married, I didn’t even connect my set to “rabbit ears” to get the local broadcasts. Even now, I like my sports, but I haven’t really felt like spending the time to watch stuff. (I confess to having a Food Network and Mythbusters habit while on vacation.)

I guess that all makes me a hidebound reactionary, old before my time. Or something like that. I prefer my books.

I wouldn’t consider this book to be a light read, but it does have its page turning moments. The World Fair narrative was a particularly engaging section. I probably will remember the concept of the decline of adulthood the most, however. If my practice of law has caused me to think anything, it is that most of us have regressed to the point of banging on our high chairs, unable to look beyond our own desires, unwilling to become adults. Unwilling particularly to accept an authority which causes a sense of inhibition.