I’ve been delighted to offer two courses this summer through the University of Cambridge’s Institute of Continuing Education–both of Louisa May Alcott’s enduring classic Little Women. For more on ICE’s upcoming courses (I’m teaching Gatsby next!), click here.
“What happens when the familiar and poignant gap of desire is cauterized by a technology that underscores our separateness? What’s left but void?”
I wrote about the BBC/Hulu adaptation of Sally Rooney’s novel Normal People for CNN Opinions.
“Connell’s look tells the story of everything he shares with Marianne. It says that wires and cables and technology may enable this form of “chatting,” but intimacy requires proximity, and no video chat will ever replicate the nearness of the real thing. It says, I know you, and I’ll see you on the other side of this when we have nothing but time.”
I’m delighted to have an essay in the new edited collection Visions of Glory: The Civil War in Word and Image (UGA Press, 2019). My essay is called “‘Companion to…the pending struggle’: L. Prang and Company’s War Telegram Marking Map.” Editors Kathleen Diffley and Ben Fagan have done a brilliant job of shepherding this book into the world, and it’s a thing of beauty. Read more about it here! (Amazon link)
I’ve entered the world of podcasting! The Book Light is a new podcast dedicated to illuminating classics of literature. Each episode, we take on a new text or author–analyzing their words, exploring their impact, and speaking with experts who shed new light (sorry) on famous texts. Check out our website or subscribe/download on iTunes.
Last fall, I had the pleasure of making my first podcast appearance on PhDivas, a brilliant show hosted by Liz Wayne and Xine Yao. Listen here!
I’ve also written a new review of Mark Bradford’s new awe-inspiring commission at the Hirshhorn, inspired by C19 Civil War cycloramas. Read the review here.
I’ve written a new commentary piece for Apollo considering the role of museums in the age of “fake news” (and in light of multiple abhorrent racist incidents that have occurred in D.C. and elsewhere). Read it here, and let me know what you think!
I wrote a short commentary for Apollo on the politics of preserving the 19th-century cyclorama The Battle of Atlanta. Read it here!
For more on the cyclorama, check out the website of the Atlanta History Center.
Image: Atlanta History Center
My review of the new-ish National Museum of African American History and Culture in Washington, D.C., has been published by Apollo. Read it here and let me know what you think!
I’m thrilled to have an essay in the newly published collection Literary Cultures of the Civil War, edited by Timothy Sweet and published by the University of Georgia Press. My contribution, titled “Near Andersonville: Race and Place in Early American Regionalism,” offers a new reading of the role played by Civil War plots to parse racial boundaries in stories by Rebecca Harding Davis and Constance Fenimore Woolson. For more on the other contributions, check out the book’s site from UGA Press or read a snippet on Amazon.
On a blustery Sunday afternoon, we stopped inside DC’s National Portrait Gallery to take in a new exhibit of Alexander Gardner’s photographs. The Gardner exhibit is the latest in a series of truly stellar presentations of Civil War materials occasioned by the war’s sesquicentennial at the Portrait Gallery; as if informed by the historic building’s own Civil War past life (it served as a hospital and the site of Lincoln’s second inaugural ball–plus both Clara Barton and Walt Whitman worked in the building at various times), curators have pulled together a tremendous series of exhibits that explore the war’s ongoing impact on the American people. The Gardner exhibit continues this record of excellence.
Taking up a large portion of a wing on the museum’s second floor, the exhibit gives the viewer a thorough introduction to the enigmatic and still underappreciated work of Gardner, who began his career as an assistant of Mathew Brady and whose work is still trapped in Brady’s long shadow. “Dark Fields of the Republic” makes a strong case for why Gardner deserves to emerge from this shadow: his battlefield photos, portraits of Civil War luminaries (particularly Lincoln), and later work documenting Native Americans in the West is both visually arresting and fascinating from the perspective of narrative. For instance, Gardner took a series of photos immediately after the war’s conclusion that staged the men who found John Wilkes Booth planning their raid, or victorious Union generals huddled around a map, recreating a moment when the war’s outcome was not ordained. These images speak to the narrative quality of photographs in the nineteenth century–photographs were not expected to necessarily represent the reality of whatever they capture in the frame, but were manipulable images that imparted stories.
We can see, therefore, how Gardner and his assistants believed that moving around dead bodies on a battlefield and arranging them artistically to tell a story was an acceptable action, as Gardner is believed to have done when photographing the aftermath of Gettysburg. The interpretive captions accompanying the Gettysburg photos convey the nuances of this controversy. But perhaps even more explanation is generated by seeing so much of Gardner’s work placed in chronological order: it’s fairly easy to see how a man who began by taking stagey photographs of families and self-portraits in full frontiersman garb would find a photograph’s story more compelling than its adherence to realism.
Though his battlefield photos are undeniably (if problematically) moving, Gardner’s bread and butter was his portraiture. His most famous portrait is part of the Portrait Gallery’s permanent collection: the cracked plate portrait of the President, taken a few days before he was assassinated. The portrait is almost too laden with symbolism, with the weight of history, to derive much about Lincoln himself from it, but in Gardner’s other sittings with the president, there is wryness in the mouth, a familiarity in the way the eyeglasses are held, that bring Lincoln back to life. It’s wonderful to have all the Lincoln portraits together, and even more wonderful that the museum has put on display Gardner’s original glass-plate negative of an 1863 Lincoln portrait. Gardner, as the caption describes, was a master of evenly distributing collodion over the plate, resulting in the beautiful clarity of his images.
After the war, Gardner moved West, documenting Native American ways of life that were all to quickly disappearing. As the exhibit is presented, this westward movement is all part of the same gesture of U.S. empire preservation and extension, at all costs. Eventually, Gardner moved back East and gave up photography. Yet his images endure, as in his moving Photographic Sketch Book of the War (1865-66). The Sketch Book tells a story not unlike the one of Herman Melville’s Battle-Pieces, a chronological rendering of the Civil War that attempts to find meaning in the country’s moment of precarity. Committed to narrativizing history, Gardner’s photographs remain enduring glimpses of a period that is always under revision, like the country they attempt to represent.
“Dark Fields of the Republic: Alexander Gardner Photographs 1859-1872” is open at the National Portrait Gallery in Washington, DC, until March 16, 2016.