#heroism fallacy? is there a term for this?

[betterbemeta]

one issue with Star Trek I am seeing (besides the insecurity in the older shows about intimacy? not sexuality, long-term intimacy) is that we're focusing on characters who are the selected awesome best of the best at their jobs. Problems are often crises solved through acts of 'heroism' even if it's nerdy heroism like knowing complicated made-up science facts.

The setting supports this by saying that Starfleet selects for the heroically talented. All the people who aren't programming futuristic technology at age 10, or speaking a 30 languages, are back on their home planets doing (in the context of the action) very little.

On one hand, this is a utopian vision. People don't have to work to survive. So why would anyone less than the best, the most motivated, choose to be where the camera can see them? Infinite leisure is an option, so why struggle to be a mediocre version of your job? Even if people can be mediocre at their passions they'd fight God to pursue all the time in real life!

On another hand, I think this is a poor framework for a utopia. It skips over the value that work that people see as tedious or even arduous, has to civilization. Even when that work has just as many conflicts, discoveries, and significance. If writers are creative enough to pump out the rest of Star Trek I'm sure they can portray this aspect of life, too. Even struggling with it! I really enjoyed Lower Decks for its portrayal of practical realities in a sci-fi universe... but that reality definitely isn't limited to low-ranking officers or comedy scenarios. But we don't have to be laughing to question heroism's role as a crutch.

In real life, very few problems are solved by reversing the polarity of a gravity field: an epiphany, a life hack, a sudden novel solution. Even engineers are typically working on projects that have schedules, working to deliver services consistently over time. Interpersonally? Most progress isn't made by breakthroughs, it's made by consistent efforts over time. Often unpleasant ones. In science? Discoveries, even novel ones, aren't always glamorous. Or even often glamorous.

And, it's not noble to suffer of course! That's why we wish we could automate the dishes or the laundry.

But a world where nobody has to do 'the laundry' that is leftover when the 'real' laundry IS automated... maybe isn't showing us humanity's best. Maybe it's that way to gratify us. Sometimes, Star Trek scans like a power fantasy where Smart People Good At Their Jobs heroically outsmart crises. And other lies ADHD has told me after ruining everything.

[inbarfink]

Okay, so I already wrote a bunch of stuff about how that scene, although it is really sweet, is also kind of a Bad Sign for Simon - how he refuses to learn the Obvious Lesson from the Winterworld adventure (that being the Ice King again is probably a really really bad idea). But I want to talk about it also a little more about what it means for Fionna’s character as well. 

Because while sitting around and wallowing in self-loathing is probably bad for Fionna, especially after being told that she shouldn't be allowed to exist, and Simon is right to try and get her out of her funk. It's also still worthwhile for Fionna to have some introspection about the Consequences of Her Actions. Because she and Cake really did not consider them at all at first. They have a sense of morality and an instinct towards heroism, but they also tend to kinda forget the fantastical worlds they visit don’t exist entirely for their fantasy and have kind of a Protagonist-Centered-Morality fallacy. 

Most obviously you can see it in the market in Ooo. How Cake, in her excitement, damaged and hurt and even killed

A bunch of innocent marketgoers without even noticing. And then Fionna immediately jumped to Cake’s defense against these ‘weirdos’, who were actually just normal kinda-righteously-angry Oooian citizens.

It’s actually very similar to the whole Winterworld situation. Fionna’s assumption that she’s automatically the hero and protagonist of the story and black-and-white view of the situation and her tendency to kick ass first and ask questions later meant that she just recklessly injured a lot of innocent people.

(It might’ve been worse actually cause at least in Winterworld she was at least manipulated by an evil Wizard)

Fionna and Cake clearly have a great potential for heroism, but they do need to be a bit more considerate of the situation and people around them. And it does make sense considering that from their perspective - they’ve been living a very ordinary life up until now (and Cake was literally an animal. A very clever animal, but still not bound by the same standards of morality as the talking animals in Ooo). Action and adventure and fantasy stuff has been purely the realm of daydream and video games for them - and Fionna literally speaks about it in these terms.

(also, Fionna's Main Character Syndrome was undoubtedly validated when God literally told her that she was created to be the main character of her universe)

So yeah, it takes them some time to really process how to be heroes - they need to grapple with questions that Finn and Jake already kinda dealt with seventeen years ago. And actually a lot of those; how to resolve a situation without necessarily using violence, when does a 'villain' actually deserve sympathy and kindness, the importance of the larger context of any given conflict... their confrontations with Ice King all played a big part in that. It was never just him, but he was still a very major part.

And for Fionna and Cake right now, learning these lessons require some amount of personal introspection. So while it was a sweet attempt at comforting, I dunno if Simon’s little ‘the only problem with that universe is that this Alternative Me was terrible because he didn’t even acknowledge or remember Betty as the love of our life and the light of my entire universe’ thing is actually Good. 

I’m not quite sure Simon is the best person to teach Fionna and Cake heroism 101, because he is so focused on the Crown Quest as the thing that brings back Meaning to his life, and because his fatherly instincts just kinda go “Sad Young Person???? MUST GIVE COMFORT!” and also on account of the kidnapping.

I’m sure Fionna is going to become the heroine she dreams about eventually, it’s just going to be a bumpy ride. The best we can hope for is that they accept Simon’s comfort, that she doesn't start believing that she is nothing but an Error for the entire universe like the Scarab claims, but don’t necessarily listen to all of Simon's his words either.

[pjstafford]

Why I still hate the Iliad.

I just finished a reread of the Iliad. Why? It has been a few years. It is considered a landmark work of literature in Western civilization and is a major influencer on modern literature. When I last read it I was in my early twenties. I believed I just wasn't smart enough to comprehend its greatness and it was one of those books I would like more when I was older and wiser. If I didn't like it, the fault must lie within me. Now I'm older and wiser and I can truly say that no matter what the experts think, I have very good reason to hate the Iliad and it is not because I'm not smart enough to comprehend its greatness.

It is considered great because it deals with concepts of morality and mortality and the heroism of men who sacrificed their lives in battles to be immortalized in songs and stories after death.

I found no heroes in the story. Why are they fighting? For the great beauty of Helen. She will end up with whichever side of the two men she has been married to side wins. She has no choice in the matter. In fact, everything about this tale is based on the fact that women are "prizes" to be captured and made into sex slaves. Why did Agamemnon take Briseis from Achilles? It was because he had to give up his battle prize so he took the battle prize that had been given to Achilles. Achilles really loved Briseis, maybe, but he still took her in battle. Apparently, Briseis was not as beautiful as Helen because Achilles didn't go to war with Agamemnon. instead, he sulked in his ship unwilling to fight and even the promise of twenty of the most beautiful women of Troy once the battle was won did not tempt him. Eventually, he did fight on the side of Agamemnon, but not until many fellow countrymen died in the interim. No heroes here.

I realize that it is a historical fact that women were property and typically I say we shouldn't judge literature too harshly based on what we don't like about history. I don't want all of our analysis of literature to be feminist or racial theory although I think feminist and racial theory have a place in literary studies (but not as primary analysis). Still, if we removed the reason for the battles, then it's a story of endless battles so that men can die to be heroes. Don't get me wrong. Dying in battle for a noble cause is heroic, but throughout the story, people are asking the question - why are we dying for this? Yet, I disagree with literary experts who say it shows the hardship of war. Yes, war is hard, but this story romanticizes battle. In fact, it invented the idealized version of war. Also, there are a lot of damn battles in this story.

I'm not saying no one should read it. It is historic. I do want to reread James Joyce's Ulysses now and I want to read The Silence of the Girls which is told from the perspective of Briseis and was published in 2022. I guess I just think maybe we should relegate it to a lesser role in our current storytelling. Perhaps it should be taught in literature graduate school classes. Let's give way to allow more modern stories and perspectives in high school and college. Mostly, though, I just think it is ok to hate it and I didn't really know that in my teens or early twenties. I guess I just want to give permission to all people of that age who are reading the "classics" to say No, I truly hate this without thinking that means you are illiterate or stupid or shouldn't study literature or write your own stories.

In terms of influencing our current culture, I think the repercussions of considering women as property and idealizing battles continue on within us. Modern stories that address those in the context of a better way or the fallacy of those truths are still relevant.

I hate the Iliad. Its the last time I will read it.

[cheryls-blossomed]

how would rank your top five episodes for westallen?

Hm, actually this is challenging, in the sense that I think that there are many episodes which are good for Westallen for vastly different reasons, but I’ll try and pick five which I think are particularly integral to Westallen’s development and which therefore are my personal favorites for their relationship.

1x21 “Grodd Lives”: Dare I make such a sweeping statement, but I honestly think that “Grodd Lives” is possibly the most important episode to Barry and Iris’ relationship growth in the entire series thus far. If “The Man in the Yellow Suit” is the turning point in their relationship after nearly two decades of Barry pining after Iris, then “Grodd Lives” addresses the aftermath of that turning point. Because yes, it deals with the immediate fallout of Iris discovering that Barry is The Flash, but the repercussions of that revelation force both Iris and Barry to deal with the reality of their relationship and friendship. In a way, it’s heartbreaking that these two best friends have somehow ended up toppling the boat that they used to sail together to safe harbors. It’s largely Barry’s fault for recklessly choosing to keep his superhero identity a secret from Iris, originally to honor the promise he made to Joe (despite the fact that it was IRIS who believed him about his father’s innocence when no one else did), and eventually because the mystery of the superhero aura gave him the unique opportunity to flirt with Iris and explore his feelings for her and her feelings for him behind the safety of the mask. Everything Iris says this episode is heart-wrenchingly true; her feelings of betrayal, her anger, her heartbreak, and her sadness are all validated in this episode. And both Barry and Iris have to deal with the chasm that has opened up between them as a result of unspoken feelings and secret identities. Iris feels betrayed, and Barry is both guilt-ridden and somewhat frustrated, having had the knowledge since 1x15 that Iris reciprocates his feelings. Unlike the inevitable heartbreak of 1x09, however, 1x21 is equally hopeful. The most significant lightning rod moment in season 1 happens in this episode, and it arguably remains one of the three most clearly defined lightning rod sequences, along side Iris returning Barry’s memories in 3x21, and Iris weaponizing the lightning rod concept in 4x01 to break Barry out of his “beautiful mind” phase. “Barry, do it for me,” and there’s hope in this statement — there’s deep love in this statement. Up until this point, Thawne’s expertise due to personal experience has guided Barry at the comms; both Cisco and Caitlin have provided scientific advice over the comms and varying degrees of support, but this situation is one which Cisco, Caitlin, Joe, or even Thawne, if present, could not  contend with. Because Iris appeals to Barry’s devotion, his love, his heroism, his very humanity, and because she knows his heart as well as her own, she is the only one able to tap into this part of him and effectively snap him out of Grodd’s mind control. It’s her first time in the lab while Barry is out in the field, and she saves him, and he, in turn, saves Joe and the city. While the final rooftop scene does not provide a definitive answer as to the future of their relationship, it’s hopeful. Barry wouldn’t be the Flash without Iris, and Iris does have feelings for him and is ultimately unsure of how to progress. The scene is bittersweet, but it’s powerful, and it looks to the future positively.

1x15 “Out of Time”: The single-most important fact of “Out of Time”, in terms of Barry and Iris’ relationship progression, is that it effectively depicts what happens when Iris’ subconscious romantic love for Barry reaches boiling point and is consciously realized. In a way, both 1x13 and 1x14 were building to this, but in reality, the entirety of season 1 prior to 1x15 was building to this. Eddie already questioned the wedding band Barry gave Iris, Iris’ jealousy (although I think Iris’ feelings here are simply reduced to jealousy, when I think a lot of it is sadness and hurt and heartbreak, because she’s reeling from Barry’s confession and realizing that she’s always been in love with him, and then finds out he’s dating someone new) about Barry and Linda has been mounting, and Iris and the Flash continue to casually flirt. Thing get complicated at the serendipitous (at least for Barry and Iris) bowling double date. Eddie calls Iris out on it, Iris becomes defensive and chooses Barry and her relationship with him (which is why it’s both hilarious and fallacious that people continue to claim that Iris always chose Eddie, when in reality her loyalty to Eddie and her love for him did not preclude her always putting Barry and her relationship with him first), Barry and Iris discuss whether they were too… (flirtatious? touchy-feely? romantic? utterly not platonic?), and Iris admits to Barry that she doesn’t think that Linda is the one for him (to which Barry responds, “Then who is?” And Iris hits him with her signature Barry Allen is My World™ heart eyes). This happens so rapidly for a variety of reasons, not least because Mason’s investigation on Thawne has been heating up, and Iris informs Barry of this fact, so as the narrative stakes get higher, Iris’ feelings become more apparent. And then of course, when things could not get more stressful (Joe’s been kidnapped by Mardon, and Barry and Iris are unsure of their own fates as a tsunami is heading to the shore), Iris finally admits her feelings to Barry, Barry, of course, reciprocates both with words and his signature Iris West is the Love of My Life My Heart My Everything™ heart eyes, and they kiss. Although the majority of events in this episode are subsequently erased via time travel, this episode is frankly one of the most important to Barry and Iris’ relationship, because it does not simply provide a short glimpse into Iris struggling with her feelings for Barry, but instead gives her the narrative space to deal with those feelings and finally tell Barry how she feels. After Iris was narratively silenced for several episodes after Barry’s confession in 1x09, it’s incredibly important that she gets this episode to deal with everything: from Barry’s confession, to her negative feelings about Barry and Linda, to her love for Barry, and to her struggling between her feelings for Barry and her feelings for Eddie. 

2x20 “Rupture”: I almost switched 2x20 out for 2x16, “Trajectory,” mainly because my favorite Westallen scene is still the club scene in that episode, but overall, “Rupture” is far more integral to progressing Westallen’s narrative, and dare I say it, but I much prefer the episode to 2x21 (I did enjoy 2x21, though). There are two main reasons why 2x20 is a standout. The first is, of course, Iris’ confession. While Barry’s confession in 1x09 is devastating due to timing, met with tears and heartbreak on both sides, Iris’ confession is tentative and raw, heartwarming and bittersweet, hopeful and definite. She eases into the confession in a way that contrasts Barry’s urgent, putting-his-heart-on-the-line ILY. She prefaces it with reminding him of what she told him before he went to Earth-2 (and there’s a vulnerability Iris displays that’s only been alluded to in past episodes — Iris did not show jealousy or anger about Barry’s relationship with Patty, but she did wonder whether she (Iris) was still home for Barry when Patty departed), and it spurs those beautiful, relationship-defining words from Iris, “Barry, you’ve always had someone to come home to. Me.” That’s it. That’s all he needs to hear, before suddenly the reality of what she’s saying begins to dawn on him, although he’s still processing when she goes on to say, “Maybe we are meant to be together.” She’s hesitant and vulnerable, and it’s incredibly endearing, and Barry… well he meets her confession with that wordless, bright, almost-in-disbelief smile. The second reason, then, stems directly from this confession. Zoom is terrorizing the city and has kidnapped Caitlin, Cisco and Dante are dealing with the emotional repercussions of Earth-2 Dante’s appearance, while Earth-2 Dante wreaks havoc, and Henry, Harry, and Joe all have very different stances on whether Barry ought to be zapped by Harry’s mini particle accelerator. Barry spent the episode up until this point being indecisive, and all it takes for him to adopt a position is Iris telling him that she wants a future with him, with Barry, and that it does not matter to her whether he’s The Flash. He decides then that he’s not risking his heart and their future for getting zapped. This is huge, because Barry views his speed as being innate to him, to who he is. But Iris, her love for him, his love for her, and the strength with which she imbues in him is so much more a part of him. Barry placing the decision in Iris’ hands in 4x16 as to whether she wants to return Barry’s speed is another callback to this fact.

3x21 “Cause and Effect”: I rank 3x21 amongst the top five, because their relationship is viewed almost entirely from Iris’ point-of-view — Barry, of course, having amnesia. Honestly, I debated ranking 3x01 here, instead, because Barry’s Flashpoint was so Iris-driven and focused and thus epitomizes Westallen’s narrative power, but I guess, I tend to conclude that episodes where Iris’ love for Barry is driving the episode are my favorites. 3x21 is effectively Iris’ mini-Flashpoint. She’s utterly luminous sitting in Jitters, watching Barry smile and joke with her, and laugh and flirt with her. He’s desperately in love with her already, and Iris? Well, Iris is falling in love with him again, and she’s so overwhelmed to see him so light and so happy. She reignites his powers with her kiss in the loft (everybody loves a good lightning rod moment), and she wants to protect his heart and his goodness from all the terrible things that have happened to him. Iris never got to experience Barry having superspeed when he first got it, but 3x21 allows us to see how she would have reacted had she known from the beginning (and highlights yet again how ridiculous and implausible it was to keep her in the dark for the majority of season 1). He’s so excited, speeding around the speed lab, and she’s so happy and excited for him. This is all she’s ever wanted for him: for him to be happy and light and free from the burdens he has been forced to bear. That’s how much she loves him. That’s how selfless her love is. When faced with the predicament on how to spark his memories, Iris draws upon one of their most vital, shared memories: the night Barry came to stay with Iris and Joe after Reverse Flash murdered Nora, and Henry was taken into police custody. She cites that as the night they fell in love, even though she was unaware of the fact then. This never fails to make me emotional; just thinking about these two children who gravitated to each other’s hearts and warmth and fell in love therefore is so pure. And it’s Iris who realizes this fact, and it’s why she can later confidently assert in 3x23 that, “I’ve always been yours. I’ve always been Iris West-Allen.”

4x15, “Enter Flashtime”: This episode highlights the meaning of “We Are The Flash” in relation to Barry and Iris, and it demonstrates that they are basically an unbeatable married duo team who uplift each other with love and support. They, quite literally, save the day together. What I really love about 4x15 is that it explores the duality behind “We Are The Flash,” a concept rooted in the idea that Iris literally and metaphorically powers Barry and that they are a married team, and “We’re also Barry and Iris,” a concept that highlights that these two are best friends in love who are the gold standard. That’s why both are explicitly stated in the opening scene in the speed lab. The Flashtime scene then delves into both concepts. Barry struggles with his last ounce of energy to bring Iris into Flashtime with him, believing that this is it, and wanting nothing more than to spend these last moments in the arms of the love of his life. He’s apologizing repeatedly, and Iris just cradles him to her, telling him that it’s okay and that every moment with him is nice. This is Barry and Iris, at their core. Two people who desperately love each other and ground one another. Barry tells Iris that she is his lightning rod, and that sparks an idea in her, as she remembers the lightning that followed Barry from the speedforce and the quark sphere which holds his genetic DNA that is in the speedforce. Barry picks up on what Iris means immediately, finishing her sentence, and then races off, with renewed strength to save Central City, but not before he passionately kisses her, pouring every ounce of his love for her into that kiss. At the end of the episode, as they lay in each other’s arms, resting after the events of the day, it’s evident that just moments with one another provide the strength for them to move forward, no matter the odds. 

[crazyd4esq]

what you have against fan service?

Glad you asked!  Here’s a nice long answer.

Dislcaimer: Yes, a lot of this stuff can be argued as subjective, but this is what I personally have against fanservice so it’s already a subjective question and will get a subjective answer.

Disclaimer 2: This is gonna get risque.  Because sex, fanservice, etc.

PrologueWhen I say I hate fanservice, I want to be clear that I don’t hate idealization or sexuality in anime or whatever.  Just fanservice.  It’s a distinction worth making, so I’ll be making it now.

Idealization (Example: Joseph Joestar)Idealization portrays a character as powerful and competent.  They might be put into strange poses or outfits, but the point is to show off what they can do.  Obviously idealization can have its problems when it constantly bombards you with unrealistic goals which you are implicitly urged to live up to, but the character is presented in terms of what it can do.

And now, Joseph Joestar:

Yes, the pose is ridiculous, but the outfit (aside from the scarf and the kneeboots) is definitely one of the more practical ones among anime characters.  It shows him off as powerful, but also in a fairly suggestive way (half shirt, bulge nearly at the center of the screen), but overall this is a tall, statuesque, sexy bruiser.  The emphasis is on what he can do (which includes killing statuesque demigods and gently but firmly tossing you down on his bed, tearing your clothes off, and getting you off at least three times before revealing his massive, majestic member).

So, in conclusion, idealization shows the character off as powerful and capable; the emphasis is on what it can do.

Sexuality (Example: That Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy Sex Scene)Sexuality is pretty self-explanatory (or far too nebulous for me to even try to tackle in a single post).  The point is how sexuality is part of a character’s life/personality/whatever, not how a character is shown off for the viewer.

(And I’m not gonna even touch more stuff involving these characters; I’m limiting this dissertation to that one sex scene.)

And now, that sex scene: 

Anyway, notice how there’s no nudity there?  How the shot is locked on them from the shoulders up?  How you still get a sense of their personalities?  That’s because that’s sexuality, not fanservice.  Obviously over-reliance on this gets cringy too (and can easily bleed over into fanservice), but it can still be a useful and welcomed addition to a story.

So, in conclusion, sexuality can show a part of a character’s nature and how they act in, well, sexual situations; the emphasis is on its identity and values.

Fanservice (Example: Blue Rose)Fun fact: I literally just copy-pasted the first paragraph of the idealization section here, then changed some terms.

Fanservice portrays a character as an object for the audience’s titillation.  They are frequently forced into bizarre and/or humiliating poses (constantly bending over to maximize cleavage and panty shots) or outfits (boob armor or bikini armor, stiletto heels on the battlefield, combat miniskirts, etc.), possibly at the expense of their characterization, morale, or reputation.  Because the point isn’t to build or empower the character; it’s to show off the character as an object (often as vulnerable) and imply or outright state to the viewer what he (there’s usually a heavy emphasis on male gaze) can do to her (the character is almost invariably female, though there are some very infrequent exceptions).  Those viewers not into whatever’s being forced into their faces are alienated, mocked, or potentially bombarded with unrealistic goals which they are implicitly urged to live up to.  The character is presented in terms of what you can do to it.

And now, Blue Rose:

“Fun” fact: this is from the official Tiger & Bunny series.  Right off the bat, notice how you can’t see her face at all?  That’s because faces are irrelevant to fanserivce (outside of pouty lips and the like) and this scene is far more concerned with her ass and crotch.  Her ass and crotch are, of course, completely visible because she goes around in a microskirt that does not even come down to her upper thighs and thus shows off her ass and crotch at all times, even when she’s not arbitrarily bending over or (as here) lying on her stomach with her ass slightly elevated because reasons … so the series has her constantly arbitrarily bending over or (as here) lying on her stomach with her ass slightly elevated because reasons.

There is NO value from this clip.  We don’t get a damn thing about her personality because 1) we can’t see her face, and 2) her personality has been suppressed in the name of “titilating” the audience.  “But she’s the fanservice character!”  Because the creators designated her the fanservice character.  Her behavior and clothes outside of her superhero costume (yes, that’s what she wears when she fights crime … and of fucking course it comes with 4in heels) are completely at odds with her fanservicey mess of “costume.”  If anything, Fire Emblem has the physique and the personality to rock a skimpy outfit … but instead of the obvious choice, they went with her.  Is it possible that the fanservice target wouldn’t be into a vaguely bara black person with stereotypical femmy gay mannerisms, but would be into a conventionally attractive blonde highschool girl?  Gee, it’s always like somebody cared more about panty shots than character consistency.  “But she chose to dress that way!”  First off, the show makes it very clear that she doesn’t particularly care for being a hero and just uses it to bolster her career as a singer … so no.  Of course, that’s irrelevant because she’s a ficticious character: she has no free will or agency, so she can’t “choose” to dress a certain way.  She’s a blank slate for the creators to dump their fetishes onto, or (I dunno) develop as a character.  Hell,  maybe her outfit could’ve become less practical when she refound her sense of heroism, indicating her steps away from being a pop idol and towards being a true hero?  But no, it’s more important to put her in 4in heels an a low-cut corset thingy IN COMBAT than it is to not insult the audience’s attention.

I’d like to also note this is what I call Male Gaze Vision.  It’s when the “camera” forces you to look at the fanservice.  Fanservice isn’t okay even if you’re not having your face jammed into it (sort of like how Blue Rose’s panties always being on display services no legitimate purpose), but this happens a LOT.  Think about how desperate the creators had to have been to show off her panties in that shot to twist and contort the camera angle to achieve it.  Couldn’t they, I dunno, spend more times coming up with badass poses or heroic moves that empower arguably the worst hero (she’s definitely one of the least popular, IIRC, because there’s literally nothing more to her than fanservice and “obligatory crush on the protag!” as to where I am in the service).

I’d ALSO like to note that, in that clip, the character Blue Rose (secret identity: Karina Lyle) is SIXTEEN.  Get a good look at that 16-year-old pussy, boys!  Drink it in!  THIS is what you wanted, fanservice fans … isn’t it?  “But the age of consent in  …”  HAHAHAHAHA.  First off, age of porn in the nation where I type this is 18.  Second, that whole “the age of consent argument” hinges on her being a real person; she’s not, she’s a fictitious character, so it’s still creepy.  (And even if she was real, if your best defense is “she’s barely legal, but legal” … ew.)  “But if she’s a fictitious character, why does it matter?”  Because one of the big fanservice arguments is “she chose to dress that way.”  She can’t choose if she’s fictitious.  Pick a side, already; we’re at war, and I’m gonna catch cold in this combat microskirt and miss high school prom.

I could go on like this for much longer and delve more deeply into Thermian fallacies, but this post is long enough already.  (Also I don’t want to turn this into a witch hunt, since a fair question deserves a fair answer.)  So, in conclusion, fanservice shows the character off as an object, generally of lust; the emphasis is on what the viewer can do to it.  Character, costume, and common sense are sacrificed in the name of trying to turn on a viewership that 1) might not even be attracted to women, which the overwhelming majority of fanservice characters are, 2) don’t like being pandered to, or 3) are getting rightfully disgusted by this shit.

ConclusionIdealization and sexuality are good when used properly and in moderation.  Fanservice is almost their unwanted illegitimate offspring, and it adds nothing to a story.  For the record, I like a nice pile o’ sex (and violence!) in my entertainment when appropriate (ain’t nothing wrong with an NC-17 rating!), but fanservice is just demeaning and cringy.

[precariousworkersbrigade]

On ethics, solidarity, working together: a collective conversation

Based on a collective Skype conversation between Janna Graham and Precarious Workers Brigade, 11 June 2016. Published in ‘Una Ciudad Muchas Mundos’. Madrid: Intermediae (forthcoming)

Janna Graham (JG): Dear Precarious Workers Brigade, I was recently in Madrid with Manuela, at a session where groups came together to work on this code of ethical practices – to guide their embedded work as artists in local communities, working on issues like gentrification, bodies and mobilities and child care.The scene as I walked in was very familiar and would be to all of you: groups were sprawled across the floor with large pieces of paper and coloured marker pens, intently working through the various dimensions of what ethics could mean. From the outside it appeared like the moment when we came all together in 2010, a moment in which we were preparing ourselves for the joys and struggles of the fight against austerity, knowing little of what was ahead, how much we were to come together and learn and how much we would lose. But of course this moment in Spain is very different from that one we experienced. The intelligence gained from the mobilisations in the squares is palpable. Questions about how to cope with the institutionalisation and the ‘becoming hegemonic’ of social movements gaining political currency (can you imagine us facing this question now in the UK?), with how to maintain the accountabilities but also the intimacies and personal proximities of direct democracy while engaging with the governmental bureaucracies, how to make movements stronger and not weaker by the various moments in which movement activists are defeated by the apparatus they have only recently come to inhabit. With this in mind, we can maybe read this ethics document and reflect on our own experiences of questioning the ethics of our work.... One of the first points we might want to discuss is that we have never described what we do as Precarious Workers Brigade as embedded practice, (in the UK they usually call this kind of work ‘socially engaged’, which tells you something about how normalised conditions of non-embeddedness are in the art world here i.e. is art not always socially engaged? is it not always embedded, just usually to indulge ruling elites?). Despite this, in other aspects of our lives and work in the arts, many of us do intensive work in and within particular contexts. Do you think the two practices are related?

Lola: It’s funny this question, as it’s true many of us make our precarious livings doing ‘embedded’ art or research projects. The rehearsing of questions of ethics within the PWB group was very important to many of us in this. Not because it gave us strategies for working with those groups necessarily, but because it de-centred us as individual or solo practitioners and allowed us to think of ourselves as part of larger collectivities.

Carrie: Yeah, it took the emphasis off the genius, the artwork, all the things that an art world that cares very little about ethics places at the centre. Instead, we built our power, our own collectivities, our accountability to another mode of valorisation in which ethics was a central component.

Martha: It’s true, as a group, though we made things and ideas all the time, we never called ourselves artists. This meant and means that when we do enter into this other art world (the one that does not place ethics at the centre) - whether as individuals or as different versions of the collectivities formed in PWB - we felt more powerful to negotiate and to demand different terms and conditions for ourselves but also for and with our collaborators from outside of the art world. Our meetings, places for sharing experiences of oppression in and through cultural organisations and finding ways to work against them, produced a different kind of configuration of the artist/social/community, one that was based in radical social aims and in practices of solidarity.

JG: I remember the importance for the group of thinking through of the term and practice of solidarity, that we neither wanted to work solely on our own conditions nor do ‘outreach’ with those outside of the arts. From this ethical framework that you describe, solidarity was less a way to encounter ‘others’, ‘communities’ or 'the social’ and more a way to link our struggles within the arts to struggles in what were perceived to be in ‘other’ fields, like those of cleaners, who in fact do work in the art world, so the very in / out dichotomy is often a fallacy. Our discussions were about challenging the parameters of how this art world is defined and also who is perceived to be entitled to cultural practices. I remember this very specifically in an encounter with Latin American Workers Association at the beginning of our years of collaborations, when they asked what we ‘artists’ could bring to their movement and then quickly questioned themselves, suggesting they too were were artists in their social movement work. How do we think of the making of the ethics code in terms of solidarity?

Maggie: A group of us have been reading a text on solidarity (2), as it’s become a very trendy term. It's very interesting to watch people perform the theorisation of solidarity who clearly do not write from the position of this kind of expanded and transversal practice. They reproduce themselves as theorists, or as cultural workers playing with a new term.

Lola: For PWB solidarity is always a practice. It is very local and about reproducing social movements, people who learn and fight together. Practicing solidarity is not about reproducing privilege but a move toward communing and sharing.

Irene: And it has operated on a number of levels. It is intersectional and transversal solidarity with people who are not like ourselves.

Kara: I love this quote from collective Aboriginal activists groups in the 70s: “If you’ve come here to help me, you’re wasting your time. But if you’ve come because your liberation is bound up with mine, then let us work together.” (3)

Lola: But solidarity is also about solidarity between our very similar positions of exploitation, caring with and for people and being cared for ourselves. At times is has also been about supporting people as they are becoming politicised (like interns or cultural workers who did not want to admit that what they experienced was exploitation).

Adele: Solidarity started through committed mutual support, by creating spaces of sharing and listening. It was not about imposing artists into communities or particular situations.

Maggie: But as an artist or cultural worker you also have a certain power to be in solidarity, to divert resources to solidarity projects, to negotiate access to resources, visibility and cultural groups that don't have it. I recently negotiated to have a part of the budget liberated from claims and outcomes so that I could re-distribute it within a collective ‘commoning' process. We can use that privilege to take resources out to be shifted to people. How do we use our privilege, how do we use these institution that don’t deserve to have this work?

Martha: I think solidarity has to involve a kind of sabotage.

JG: It’s true. One of the things that we discussed in the events around the ethics code in Madrid, is how to engage in this work without it becoming individualised once again, without it being about the solo rogue or heroic practitioner who interiorises and both profits and pains from being the one inside the institution, the one who has the capacity to re-distribute. Even if negotiating individually as an artist for me PWB and other social movement collaborators have helped us to keep this interiorising tendency in check, to remain accountable to a community, and not to slide into modes of individualised subjectivation that, when beard alone, seem to result in either institutional heroics or ‘personal’ illness and depression. This seems really important to work out.

Carrie: Yes, there is an important difference between the ‘solidarity’ of the upper classes and those in struggle. Upper class solidarity - through which people establish strong alliances between themselves in order to maintain their position (the position of the ruling class) is not about recognising the other's conditions in order to care for them but in order to reproduce the privilege of the ruling class (even when that is the radical left). Regardless of their sometimes good intentions and radical rhetoric, many groups continue to manage the common resources using a top down approach. In the case of Common Practice, the group who wrote the text about Practicing Solidarity (2), ‘solidarity’ may not come from the upper classes per se, but still refers to a functional alliance between small art spaces. This is functional to maintain and secure public funding from the Arts Council of England against the giant cultural institutions. Little reference is made to how we might generate new forms of sustainability which are more inclusive, e.g. working with different kinds of art spaces which are not representing the art world or have never received Arts Council support or working with groups ‘outside’ of the arts who include creative practices within their social movement work. Solidarity implies some kind of symmetry, reciprocity, a commitment to the distribution of resources at all levels... not a top town approach in the name of professionalism, excellence, nor personal heroism.

JG: Shall we speak for a moment about the ethics code itself? (4) What do you think was its role in PWB? Why and how was it produced?

Martha: Well in some ways the forming of Precarious Workers Brigade itself mapped out the initial contours of an ethics code. A smaller group, then operating under the name Carrot Workers Collective, had been invited to do a residency at the Institute for Contemporary Art (ICA), a pretty well known gallery in London during their ‘Season of Dissent’. The Carrot Workers opened up the question of how to use such residencies to genuinely support political work in the art field to anyone who might like to join a conversation about it. Out of that conversation around the ethics of tokenistic/politically themed residencies we created Precarious Workers Brigade. In this larger collective, after a number of blocked attempts at using the ‘Season of Dissent’ residency at the ICA as a space for cultural workers, arts students and other communities to gather and prepare for the occupations and demonstrations of the anti-austerity movement, we used it instead to stage a people’s tribunal on the precarity (and hypocrisy) of the art field itself. (5)

Adele: In those early days the question of ethics came up a lot. I remember a very heated conversation around whether or not members of the group could claim the collective work as part of their individual practices, particularly when our political work was taking us away from our artistic responsibilities as art students or workers. This was not resolved and has remained a bit of a tension in the group, but even then signaled the need for something that we could refer to in order to navigate the complicated terrain we operate in as activists in the art field and to hold ourselves accountable to one another. Remnants of these discussions appear in the ethics code under the heading ‘authorship’.

Maggie: But the actual ethics code came later in our collective process. After the tribunal, we started to get all sorts of invitations to write texts, give talks, be on panels and do workshops. A lot of this wasn't really helpful, was distracting and extracting energies away from other things we wanted to do. At the same time, many of us were in the habit of perpetually saying yes. So we put in the ethics code some guidelines to ourselves to help us evaluate the usefulness of certain activities. There are sections on ‘When we say yes’ and ‘When We Say No’. We asked, for example, do we want to engage in consciousness-raising, if people are already conscious but inactive? Or what’s the balance and relationship between doing representational work i.e. in art galleries and on the ground/organising work i.e. running clinics for precarious workers, staging protests and actions etc.? We also asked questions about the conditions of production at the site of the invitation and who the work serves. This helped us to make decisions, to free up time, resources and energy. And it was also helpful in resisting the production logic that demands and places much value on the constant production of new things, rather than doing more with the tools and analysis we had already developed. We wanted to strike a balance between developing new tools and knowledge and making more readily available and usable our existing ones.

Kara: The process of writing the code also enabled us to make visible and remind ourselves and others what the collectives' aims were. Writing it helped us articulate why we are here and what kind of work we might need to focus on to achieve this.

Carrie: Like solidarity, ethics are practiced. Using the code also meant constantly re-visiting what we had written down at earlier stages in our processes, which was really useful in helping us re-evaluate the context around us and our relationship with it. Do certain things we are doing still make sense given how things have moved and shifted? Are the questions around ethics the same now as when we asked them in 2010? For example, when we began the group, the conversation around internships was not really out there, but now the Arts Council of England has tied labour standards around internships to public funding grants and other professional organisations have issued clear guidelines around the use of free labour in the arts. This does not mean that the problem is solved but does mean that we do not have to concentrate most of our time on consciousness raising and therefore perhaps need to accept invitations to speak in the art world less unless there is a genuine interest in organisational change.

Kara: It’s maybe important to say that we re-visit these questions of ethics in different ways. The first is situational, like Carrie describes, to help us make decisions about individual invitations but they also shape agendas of our larger meetings, usually on an annual basis. In the big meetings, we attempt to map out what we have done and what we would like to and the code plays a role in remembering our priorities, and setting new ones for the year, who is interested in working on what etc. Recently we have had large meetings reflecting on the last 5 years, not to self-congratulate or to put together a publication about the heydays of the PWB, but to reflect on where we are, what’s going on in people's lives, what are the needs, desires, of people in the group and the context in which we are operating. What does an ethical framework look like in today’s environment? How do we build self-care and acknowledgement of our own conditions into our planning? This is also an important point around ethics of a non-exploitative practice.

JG: It might be useful to say something about the form of the ethics code in relation to the idea of it being determined by its use, especially as our friends in Madrid may be thinking about how to develop their initial mapping into something that it readily available and usable across different platforms.

Adele: We were reflecting on this in relation to the code developed in Madrid, which addresses some very important points but in the translation comes across as perhaps a bit like a list of rules. For us the making of the code was to be neither slippery and non-committal around ethics but also to not be overly dogmatic in its form or its application. We found it very helpful to depart from a series of questions for discussion and collective decision-making. It wasn’t a bureaucratic terms of reference or something, but something direct and accessible to us that offered points for negotiation and discovery of what the ethics of the group were in relation to the invitations we received. Our response to these points and questions were gauged very differently if the invitation came, for example, from another social movement group, versus when they came from an establishment art gallery i.e. if the group was committed to social justice at its core we might not be so concerned about free labour (as we are all free labourers in PWB) but if it came from a gallery we had different responses. The questions of the ethics code and the various responses we received were also diagnostic, they helped us to use the invitations we received to diagram power relations across the field, relations we all know about but were now able to plot across different kinds of organisations.

Lola: It’s probably important to say that we ask ourselves these questions of the ethics code, but also the organisations that we are working with, hoping that they would cause them to reflect on their own working practices. So the checklist of ‘when we say yes and when we say no’ was turned into a set of questions for them. In this way we have not been as direct as, say our comrades in W.A.G.E. in the US, who have very clear guidelines around pay practices to which organisations can sign up and be certified. We have used different tactics depending on the various constituencies we work with i.e. intern campaigns around the ethics of payment have looked quite different from our solidarity work around immigration, cleaners etc. as each dimension and group galvanised around precarity has different conditions and terms around ethics. But we do make it a point to ensure the conditions of production are published alongside the texts and presentations that we make in cultural institutions.

Martha: Posing questions has also been a broader strategy for us, a way for us to gather particular constituencies. We use questions as a way to invite precarious workers into conversations in the first instance i.e. the question ’do you free lance but you don’t feel free?’ helped us to probe whether groups might want to gather around freelancing in the arts? As a group we are committed to processes like militant investigation and popular education, which begin with collective questioning rather than a list of do’s and don’ts. We think it’s important and vital that those most affected by an issue be the primary investigators of those conditions and the ones to pose questions of ethics.

Manuela: It’s maybe important to say that the ethics code sits among other tools and materials for use in organising and collective work in and beyond the arts... the Counter-Guide to Free Labour in the Arts (6), the Bust Your Boss card (7), the Training for Exploitation? alternative curriculum (8), the anti-raids know your rights card (9), a free labour infobox template (10)... many of them have been taken up by people working in different positions in the arts, like students, teachers, interns, workers/employees... and indeed are also addressed to people working at these different levels. The ‘Surviving Internships’ (5) guide for instance talks about the problem of free labour in the arts, offering analysis and proposing solutions for prospective interns, current interns and employees that ‘have’ interns. Ethics here are usefulness in addressing these kinds of structural forms of injustice (internships) from the points of view of the different positions involved, and to propose forms of action and solidarity across the board, not just making it an issue for interns themselves. In the brainstorm for ethics guidelines that we elaborated in that workshop in Madrid, we also thought about three different levels of practice/involvement and the positions they imply - the level of the institution, the level of collective practice, and the level of outside collaborators or ‘outreach’ if you like. Maybe it’s a PWB habitus that made me propose these three levels in order to also try map out problems from different viewpoints, to see how problems play out at different levels. Do you have any thoughts on how this multi-level mapping/proposing has worked with the Surviving Internships guide, and/or how PWB tries to engage thinking and solidarity across different positions/levels in the arts?’

Kara: Yes, we have these different positions and levels involved in the ethics codes and tools because those were also the positions reflected in the group. We would not prescribe ethical positions for people but, as we said before, from the conundrums each of us was facing in our different fields of practice and out of a collective will to fight across divisions that are imposed by the structural inequalities and violences of the field. So the group involved art lecturers and their students, curators and interns at their organisations in the same meetings, for a period someone from the Latin American Workers group we were developing actions with in relation to the immigration raids, all of us working out what ethics meant across these different concerns. This was sometimes unsettling and uncomfortable as we were straddling two systems of work at the same time: one striving for an ethical way to be and another producing us in various forms of opposition with each other. The tensions of this transversality were important to work through in shifting our perspectives from the divisions created by institutional paradigms. Very practically though, having representatives from these various positions was crucial in producing actions as we would work from the various knowledges at different levels of an organisation to stage protests etc. It has also been important in terms of dissemination of tools, messages and actions, as we have not had to promote them outside of our own fields of reference, but rather through our own friendship and working networks. We have not done follow up research on the usage of these tools, but anecdotally we share moments of their use all the time and have grown a larger community of people who in term disseminate them as and when they are useful to people.

JG: On reflection of six years of working together, we began the process of building an organisation that was based in ethics rather than production, individual authorship etc. We spoke a bit about what this meant for us in our ‘other work’ in the art field at the beginning of the conversation, but at this point in history and particularly in the UK it seems important to think about what organisations based on this kind of an ethics code might look like, at the very least as the basis for formulating new demands.

Carrie: Yeah, that’s for sure; organisations based in ethics are far from trendy here! This would be a huge overthrow.

Adele: Well, at the very core is that cultural work be seen within the context of broader socially reproductive work, and the production of commons, not a separate sphere governed by bureaucrats, elites or special ‘creative’ people.

Martha: It would position itself in relation to specific issues, and those involved would be effected by these issues i.e. issues in the neighbourhood where the organisation was situated, or the conditions of it workers. It would use this as the basis for forming solidarity relationships.

Kara: It would make, commission and show work in the framework of this solidarity. It would not become closed, but rather invite others to join if they are willing to make commitments to the work.

Lola: It would understand itself as investigating and learning from its work. It would support its workers with care and viable (even joyful!) living and working situations. It would be non- hierarchical, it would create environments of support, and it would take sides and not be aligned with forces of exploitation. It would be free of all corporations and private interests.

Carrie: Like I said, arts organisations basing themselves on ethical questions would be a huge overthrow!

2 - Carla Cruz for Common Practice. Practicing Solidarity. London: 2016. http:// www.commonpractice.org.uk/wp-content/uploads/2016/04/ CommonPractice_PracticingSolidary.pdf

3 - This quote was voiced by Lila Watson at the UN Conference on Women in 1985, but she suggests it emerged out of practices of collective struggles and should therefore not be attributed to her. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lilla_Watson

4 - http://precariousworkersbrigade.tumblr.com/ethicscode

5 - See Precarious Workers Brigade, ‘Tools for Collective Action: People’s Tribunal’ in Dis magazine. http://dismagazine.com/discussion/21416/tools-for-collective-action-precarity-the- peoples-tribunal/

6 - Carrotworkers’ Collective. Surviving Internships – A Counter Guide to Free Labour in the Arts. 2011 https://carrotworkers.wordpress.com/counter-internship-guide/

7 - http://precariousworkersbrigade.tumblr.com/Toolbox

8 - an updated version of ‘Training for Exploitation?’ has been published in January 2017 with Journal of Aesthetics & Protest Press and is available at: https://www.joaap.org/press/trainingforexploitation.htm

[The original 2012 draft is available here: https://carrotworkers.wordpress.com/2012/05/02/training-for-exploitation- towards-an-alternative-curriculum/]

9- http://precariousworkersbrigade.tumblr.com/post/24253388147/migrant-bust-cards-are-here- translated-into-20

10 - http://precariousworkersbrigade.tumblr.com/Toolbox

[topmixtrends]

AT THE PASSOVER SEDER, Jews have sung Dayenu (“It would have been enough”) for over a thousand years: if God had only brought us out of the land of Egypt, it would have been enough; if God had only parted the Red Sea, it would have been enough; if God had only given us the Torah, it would have been enough. The sequence of miracles it recounts over 15 asymmetrical and nearly impossible to sing stanzas insinuates an existential question — would it really have been enough? Would it have been enough for God to part the Red Sea, but not lead the Jews across dry land? Would it have been enough to bring the Jews to Mount Sinai, but not give them the Torah? Would it have been enough to give them manna in the desert, but never lead them to the Promised Land? And for Jews today, who didn’t participate in the exodus and who never offered a sacrifice at the Temple in Jerusalem, is it enough to have only a song to commemorate it all? Regardless, Dayenu, it will have to do.

In the still-unextinguished history of modern Yiddish literature, the career of Avrom Sutzkever (1913–2010) could serve as material for a latter-day Dayenu. If he had been the most talented and least tendentious member of the interwar Yung Vilne (“Young Vilnius”) group of Yiddish poets, Dayenu. If he had rescued precious artifacts of Vilna’s Jewish culture, then joined the Partisans in armed resistance against the Nazis, Dayenu. If he had devoted superhuman energy and creativity to writing countless poems recording his wartime experience as it happened, Dayenu. If he had testified at the Nuremberg trials about the destruction of Vilna Jewry, Dayenu. If he had settled in Tel Aviv to become, after the establishment of Israel, the state’s most important Yiddish writer, Dayenu. If he had created the most significant postwar journal for Yiddish culture, Di Goldene Keyt (“The Golden Chain”), Dayenu. If in all 141 issues of his journal he continued to publish his own innovative Yiddish poetry and prose, Dayenu. And again, an existential question arises — for the profundity and heroism of Sutzkever’s life and career is inextricable from the pathos of the culture that he came to represent, increasingly, alone. Can poetry, however exquisitely conceived, compensate for the lost infrastructure of a murdered civilization? Dayenu: it will have to do.

In the novella Envy, or Yiddish in America (1969), the Jewish-American author Cynthia Ozick creates a wicked and grotesque parody of the postwar Yiddish literary scene, in which she participated as a translator. The tale depicts a handful of aging and wretched Yiddish writers who obsess over the popular success of one dissolute member of their cadre — nakedly modeled on the future Nobel laureate Isaac Bashevis Singer — able to make a decent living and receive the adulation of a wide audience thanks to the translatability of his writing. “If only I had a translator” becomes the story’s refrain, into which these characters heave all of their grievance and jealousy. Sutzkever, by contrast to the petty characters in Ozick’s narrative, lived his long life with unassailable dignity, and his poetry, unlike Singer’s uneven and often repetitive fiction, maintains the highest standards in both form and content. Although his work has been well known to specialists of Jewish literature, and has been translated into English, Hebrew, Polish, and other languages, it is no secret that he longed for a greater audience than fate could provide for him.

As is the case with the recently deceased Amos Oz in Hebrew and Philip Roth in English, Sutzkever’s readers struggle to imagine a world in which his writing could receive its Nobel Prize. If it is too late for such accolades, one can at least take comfort that Sutzkever has at last found his translator. Richard J. Fein’s new anthology, The Full Pomegranate: Poems of Avrom Sutzkever, presents a rich and daring cross-section of Sutzkever’s verse. Together with an out-of-print volume prepared by Benjamin and Barbara Harshav (A. Sutzkever: Selected Poetry and Prose, 1990), and a more scholarly selection published in Germany by the British translator Heather Valencia (Still My Word Sings, 2018), Fein’s book makes a fraction of Sutzkever’s artistry available to English-language readers. Of these volumes, Fein’s is not only the most accessible, it is also the most original. Taking the subjective premise of one poet responding to another’s writing based not on what is most famous or momentous, but on what is most resonant, relatable, and translatable, Fein crafts a portrait of Sutzkever neither as a historical relic nor as a witness to catastrophe, but as an inexhaustibly accomplished creator of poetry, and a devoted imaginer of a lost world. This, one imagines, is what Sutzkever would have wanted.

The book opens with excerpts from a 36-poem autobiographical cycle titled Siberia, written in the mid-1930s but subsequently revised as part of the author’s first collection of poems, then reworked again as a separate volume, with illustrations by Sutzkever’s friend Marc Chagall — sadly omitted from this translation — in 1952. Sutzkever had lived in Siberia, on the banks of the river Irtysh, when his family fled the violence of World War I and the political uncertainty of its aftermath; his most formative childhood experiences occurred there. Although the title promises to evoke the region of tsarist exile and the Soviet Gulag, the contents of the cycle speak instead of a pantheistic embrace of nature and an ecumenical embrace of the non-Jewish natives among whom Sutzkever came of age. It at once evades the party politics of Sutzkever’s fellow-traveling poetic peers in the Yung Vilne group of the 1930s and, at the same time, subtly rebukes that politics. A unique blend of nature poetry and childhood memories, set in one of the most unlikely geographical settings for Yiddish poetry, Siberia opens the book with Sutzkever’s own process of revision and reconceptualization, which culminates with Fein’s translations.

This task of recreating a lost world from memory — the mission that makes Sutzkever’s postwar poetry so significant to the commemoration of the Holocaust — had already begun years before World War II, when Sutzkever was a neophyte poet in his mid-20s. As the Yiddish literature scholar Justin Cammy notes in his elegant and authoritative introduction to Fein’s volume, Sutzkever’s poetic project not only differs from the work of his Yiddishist peers, but it also makes him a distinctive voice in the history of Israeli literature. “We must not assimilate into Israel,” Cammy quotes Sutzkever as saying, “we must assimilate Israel into ourselves.” Rejecting the solipsist and pathetic fallacies of much Romantic verse, in which the external world is only a projection — or at best a reflection — of the poet’s psyche, Sutzkever embeds the poetic speaker in the environment. What emerges is a poetry uniquely attuned to the relationship between present and past, recovery and loss, Israel and Eastern Europe. Nonetheless, it is a poetry in Yiddish, the language of Ashkenazic diaspora, and so rupture remains as vital as reparation, and the sum of Sutzkever’s achievement remains resistant to the fictions of salvation, especially the illusions institutionalized in the new nation and its revived language.

A poem written just before his aliyah, when Sutzkever was residing briefly in Paris, illustrates the subtlety and complexity of his verse:

Di froy Fun mirml afn per-lashez Hot mikh gefangn. Es iz geven azoy: Ikh bin gegangn Af per-lashez, Mit frishn bintl bez, Im tsu derlangn Shopen’s gebeyn Farvandltn in klangn

The woman of marble in Père Lachaise snared me. It was like this: I went to Père Lachaise With a fresh sprig of lilac for the remains of Chopin turned into sounds

In transliteration, even a reader otherwise unable to understand Yiddish can appreciate the musicality of Sutzkever’s irregular rhymes, how the French “Père Lachaise” rhymes with the Yiddish bez (lilac), juxtaposing the stasis of the cemetery with the regeneration of nature in bloom. The speaker of the poem presents (derlangn) the flowers to Chopin’s bones, which, like the coral in Shakespeare’s The Tempest, or Eliot’s The Waste Land, have transformed into something rich and strange, not Jobian dust but transcendent sounds (klangn). An exchange between life and death becomes, in turn, the source for Chopin’s music and Sutzkever’s poetry. As in every encounter between Sutzkever and the past, whether the memories of Siberia or the imaginings of his murdered friends and family from the Vilna Ghetto, the poet here uses his imagination to establish a connection with the lost world, but also to dispel the fantasy. In his communion with Chopin, a hundred years after the composer’s death and just weeks before Sutzkever’s resettlement in the Land of Israel, the connection between one great Polish artist and another vanishes at the thought of where Sutzkever’s bones might be carried, in contrast with the famous transplantation of Chopin’s preserved heart to Poland in 1850. Sutzkever and Chopin share common spaces — Poland and France — yet what they can’t share is a common home.

Rather than trying to replicate Sutzkever’s superlative talent for Yiddish rhythm and rhyme, Fein opts for fidelity to mood and meaning. This decision triggers, one can suggest, a particular and apt pathos: Fein’s versions not only communicate a generous measure of Sutzkever’s gifts, but also reveal them to be partly ineffable outside of their original language. Perhaps inevitably, one can quibble with individual word choices. In the Père-Lachaise poem, for example, Fein renders the term kalkhovn as “ovens” when a more precise translation would be “furnaces”; in so doing, he gains the contemporary association of “ovens” with gas chambers and crematoria, but sacrifices the Biblical resonances of the original. The title of another poem, “Shvartse yagdes,” refers not to “blackberries” (ozhenes or ozhenitses) but to “blueberries,” particularly for speakers of Sutzkever’s Lithuanian Yiddish dialect. But these are minor complaints. And, of course, one might suggest alternate ways of rendering Sutzkever’s verse, but it’s hard to imagine that the results would be better than what Fein achieves on every page.

As one marvels throughout this volume at Sutzkever’s linguistic resourcefulness, one must contrast his Yiddish with the fate of English in its era of global ubiquity. Yiddish, deprived of many social functions or rationales over the last seven or eight decades, has retained and perhaps intensified its aesthetic potential. English, the most “useful” language in the contemporary world, seems more and more confined by its utility, losing some of its capacity for wonder and revelation. If it is too much to say that poetry can only be written in a technically “useless,” and hence aesthetically liberated, language such as Yiddish, one can at least hope that poetry in English take its inspiration from sources as uncompromising and astonishing as Sutzkever’s verse.

Indeed, the question of what role Yiddish may play in an era when fewer and fewer people speak it is identical to the question of what role poetry may play in a world where people not only don’t read it, but don’t even understand the value of making the effort to do so. It is a question that touches on the fundamental challenge of metaphysics, to understand what value may be assigned to objects, experiences, or sensations that lack material use. This is indistinguishable from the question of what remains beyond physical existence, an imponderable thought made more significant when the individual pondering it is himself a survivor from an otherwise vanished civilization. Sutzkever contemplates these questions in one of his more famous verses, ably translated by Fein:

Mer fun ale shtern azh fun tsofn biz aher, Blaybn vet der shtern vos er falt in same trer. Shtendik vet a tropn vayn oykh blaybn in zayn krug. Ver vet blaybn, Got vet blaybn, iz dir nit genug?

Longer than all the northern stars will last, the star that falls in a tear will last. In the jug, a drop of wine will last. Who will last, what will last? God will last.

Isn’t that enough for you?

The God to be encountered in Sutzkever’s verse is undifferentiated from the stars, the droplets of wine, the tears that remain — not a transcendent deity but an immanent one, omnipresent yet fragile. Is Sutzkever’s God, or Sutzkever’s art, sufficient to the tasks of commemoration, of reconstruction, and of reconciliation between the past and the present? Nu, Dayenu: it will have to do.

¤

Marc Caplan is a native of Louisiana and a graduate of Yale University. In 2003, he earned his PhD in comparative literature from New York University. He is the author of How Strange the Change: Language, Temporality, and Narrative Form in Peripheral Modernisms (Stanford University Press, 2011), a comparison of Yiddish and African literatures.

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