#hw brands

[wutheringmights]

Heirs of the Founders: The Epic Rivalry of Henry Clay, John Calhoun and Daniel Webster, the Second Generation of American Giants by H. W. Brands was given to me by my BIL as a joke. I have an on-going joke about one of the men in that title-- one I have been torturing my friends and family about for almost a decade now.

My BIL thought it would be funny if he gave me a book about said man. I thought it was about time I read it.

This book was a pain in the ass. I started this thing back in January, and it took me the full month and a half to read. The book isn't too long, but no matter how much I sat down to read it, I never felt like I made any progress. But I couldn't stop reading it, because I knew I was never finish it otherwise.

And now that I read it (and wrote out my thoughts), I’m sure I hate it.

On one hand, I like history. It was written in a very narrative way, and it was nice to get a reminder that American politics have always been a shit show.

On the other, the scope of this book was really limited. It's not about the lives of Clay, Calhoun, or Webster; but it doesn't offer a comprehensive enough look at the politics of the time to be about their careers. You cannot tell me that there wasn't a contemporaneous Black author who wrote about their policies on slavery as it was being debated.

It's not like there wasn't other figures of American history that wasn't explored. The presidents of the time were given full exposes, and there was multiple chapters on Solomon Northup. But often, Brands would reduce alternative stances to "abolitionists disagreed." Who disagreed? What was their name and what exactly did they say?

All that to say that the way the book talked about slavery was mostly okay. Again, it's limited but it was frank. The country is at a stage where if a book doesn't try to mince the evils of slavery I have to appreciate it.

But you want to know what this book did mess up? Native American history and rights.

First, Brands committed to referring to Native Americans as "Indians." This book was published in 2018.

Second, the Indian Removal Act was skimmed over, if not almost completely ignored. There is a quick reference to it at the end of a chapter about a British journalist's thoughts on Henry Clay. Allegedly, Clay made such an impassioned speech against the act that tears welled in his eyes. That seems like something worth mentioning in a book about Henry Clay's life.

I am convinced this is because Brands adores Andrew Jackson. We spent a lot of time on Jackson's military career and presidency. Everything Brands had to say about Jackson was positive. Was the infamous story of Jackson beating a man with his cane mentioned? No. Did I have to read about how Jackson was a man of honor and principal? Yes. Constantly.

I only finished this book out of sheer stubbornness. I just feel frustrated. This book felt imbued with that American mythologism that makes engaging with any American pop history a minefield to navigate. If I cared a bit more, I would google Brands to see what his politics are.

As is, I just never want to look at this book again. I can't even confidently say I learned anything as I can feel the burning holes of the book's limited perspectives and biases. How can I trust what little I thought I learned when Brands is obviously not telling the whole story. Just look at Andrew Jackson.

[antebellumite]

i'm hearing brands talk about clay calhoun webster and AAAAAAAAAAAA

[novuit]

Everytime I join a guild and equip my new tool/weapon, Arthur becomes completely stripped off his clothes; it's so embarrassingggg.... And I have to very quickly dress him in unflattering clothing to save his dignity..

[pvffinsdaisies]

Just imagining Japan wearing one of those t-shirts with Scottish town names on, and Scotland stopping dead in his tracks wondering why he’s wearing a top that says like Falkirk on it, and America just taps him on the shoulder like “you get used to it.”

[hygienic-soap-dispenser]

Here's a Fin for y'all idk

[ifindus]

Napapijri is an Italian clothing brand that uses a "sort of" Finnish name and a Norwegian flag as a logo even though it has nothing to do with either country! The brand is inspired by adventurers and "defying labels, transcending boxes, pursuing the unexpected journey into nature and creativity" as they put it.

I had never heard of this brand before I lived in Scotland, and I saw so many people wearing it there! Seemed super popular! Always so confusing because I automatically assumed they were Norwegians, but no. Just Scots wearing Norwegian flags ✨ so sweet of them 🥰

[royaltea000]

Kept showing friend pictures of Cloud Sephiroth and Zack in this and now they keep asking me when I’m gonna draw Gilbert in them and I’m sad to say they’ve won

[doueverwonder]

Australia: Every zoo is a petting zoo unless you’re a coward.

Canada: whole worlds a petting zoo if you're not a coward.

Canada: now let's go find that moose.

[romericas]

Nations Revealed AU but instead of Alfred's government revealing it or it coming to light through Watergate or something, it's just because Alfred went on the Muppet's Show as an engineer from NASA or something back in the day and then later started his YouTube channel where he keeps alluding to his time on the Muppets, leading to people figuring him out and connecting the dots with all the other nations he keeps featuring in his videos and now internet conspiracy theorists think all the tans are vampires who just happen to also be vaguely involved with politics sometimes

[mythandral]

Day 18: Landscape

Man has not set foot in these lands for millenia, yet something familiar puts your heart at ease.

[luderailing]

Screw it

Moldova appreciation post

[antebellumite]

hw brands, talking about clay and calhoun and webster:

" if you remember your days from high school, you might remember that relationships between two people, whether it's friends or romantic relationships, two people involved, that's one kind of relationship, but it gets a whole lot more interesting when you add a third." " and that's exactly how it turned out in these guys' lives."

i. am. hypervENTILATING.

[deus-ex-mona]

the way this was the last new image featuring daimeggle th o u g h

[betty-bourgeoisie]

You jest, but Alfred would make a decent candidate for Temperance if reversed (if you even use reversed card meanings; some don’t, I’m usually one of them).

Oh I think he would be great for Temperance reversed.

Actually I think Alfred really does represent a duality that would work well for temperance - The idea of temperance has heavily influenced American culture through various religious groups (Quakers, Shakers, Puritans - I won't list every itty bitty Protestant sect that hates fun, but there are/were a LOT of them in the U.S. The Temperance movement itself had religious roots too). Even the more generic flavors of American protestantism tend to emphasize not being too flashy or tacky.

And then on the other hand you have the conspicuous consumption, bigger is better attitude that is so heavily associated with American capitalism and the American entertainment industry.

These values are supposedly antithetical to each other, but they're both corner stones of the American over culture, and the tension between the two is ever present - in fashion, in foodways, in home decor, in language- the need to show off your wealth while still appearing humble and reserved (ie: godly) is always there.

As a personification of the United States I think Alfred's character could be uniquely positioned to represent both temperance and temperance reversed in a tarot deck for exactly this reason.

[squirrelwrangler]

The Sphinx’s Son

The sandstone lions that guarded the Great Temple had human faces that were carved to look stern and imposing, but Arus thought that the statues just looked sad. They had his mother’s face, though the masons who had carved the human-headed lions had lived more than two centuries ago. Coincidence or the timelessness of a standard of beauty, the boy could not say which. Arus traced the names of the master stonemasons where the signatures were tucked away on the back heel of the statues, hidden in their cool shadows. The ridge of stone of the carved tail made a perfect bench for him to sit.

The temple processions, carried out by fifty people of various ages, marched on in loops between the temple colonnades. Ganreh, the favorite student of the head priest, led today’s procession, sweat dripping down his shaved head and wilting the starched linen of his tabard. The clinking sistrum dictated the cadence of the march, and the pinched expression of intense concentration on Ganreh’s face to keep the metronomic chinking of rattled metal beads consistent made Arus choke back laughter. Ganreh was too kind for scolding, but Head Priestess We-se would box his ears for disrupting the ceremony. The chanting combined with the sistrum to make a pleasant if monotonous song. Arus wondered if the real purpose was to soothe the gods to sleep with such droning lullaby-like music. 

The attendant priestesses carrying the smoke-filled braziers noticed where Arus sat waiting for today’s procession to finish –the second of a six-day ceremony– but as Arus was silent and sitting clear of the path and not yet necessary for any of the rituals, their side-eyes were of measured approval instead of mistrustful scorn. Arus’s siblings were too young to sit quietly through any long religious ceremony and had been left in the care of palace nannies, but he was old enough to observe ceremonies. Not join them. Yet. Maybe. Arus had yet to show definitive proof that he had inherited his mother’s gift.

Sehmket walked between an entourage of priests and priestesses, their feathered staffs and leopard robes penning her in as she performed her role. Small statues of the deities were carried before and behind her, and a cloud of incense clouded her. Inside the temple the statues were milky stone, but when the procession exited into the afternoon sun of the courtyard, sharp light reflected off of the translucent quartz of the gods and the crushed mica of the priestly face paint. Each quartz statue of a god, goddess, or divine beast was carried on a bronze platter by an attendant priest or priestess, except for one. Two strong priests carried the litter bearing the largest of the holy statues, that of the winged warrior magician goddess O-sesmiat-et. Supposedly it was a replica of the main statue at the furthest altar of the temple, the one that only Ganreh and the Head Priest and Priestesses attended. The winged goddess with her tall crown had a carved face that mimicked the faces of the stone lions but whose expression remained fathomless. Arus wondered who carved the image of the goddess, the only statue chiseled from precious blue stone instead of semi-transparent quartz. Privately he thought that the craftsman was not as skilled as Abidus or Senos-se, the names carved on the heel of the guardian lion statues. A large fan of dropping white feathers angled to further shade the pair of litter bearers of O-sesmiat-et from the sun, but the fan bearer was a short apprentice that struggled to keep the correct angle. In the morning the apprentice had no difficulty with his task, but hours later the heat was affecting him. The two stout litter bearers seemed not to mind, but surely their shoulders ached by now.

In their own way the marching priests were as impressive as the soldiers drilling in the royal barracks. 

Arus waved at his mother each time that the ritual brought her to the outer temple courtyard with its stone lion guardians. A silent wave, for the boy was mindful not to interrupt the chanting prayers of the priests and priestesses. Each time a small smile graced his mother’s thin lips. She would not wave back, as that would be unbecoming of dignity and disrupt the careful folds of the heavy cloak around her body and the long train that dragged behind her, the many gemstones and painted feathers that decorated her singular regalia scooting along after each small gliding step that Sehmket took to preserve the illusion that she was gliding like a windborn barque across the giant sandstone paving stones, her feet hidden by reed-thin folds of a long linen shift. Dressing his mother in her ceremonial regalia and laundering the expensive garments required the skills of two priestesses that focused on nothing else but the special garments of the highest priesthood and Arus’s mother. That Sehmket was mindful of her duties was a great irony, for she had a pivotal role in the assassination of the previous high priest and the uncovering of the great conspiracy among the temples and the altering of religious teachings.

The long six-day ceremony was one of the results of the purging and purification of the faith, to restore old ceremonies and old rituals of performing them. How Sehmket was included in them was not an old process restored, though the chant was something transcribed off of a once-forgotten and half-buried tomb wall dating back two dynasties. The priesthood enthusiastically searched for the old methods to honor the gods, eager to reform the lies of their forebears and restore trust in the gods and their chosen representatives. Arus’s mother was the lynchpin to their efforts, however uneasy the truth of the alliance.

His mother was no prisoner, however much Arus sometimes felt that she might be, but he knew that the trust given to Sehmket was conditional. Revered asset instead of hounded traitor, but he was old enough to understand the looks that others bestowed upon his mother, from priest and noble down to the day-laborers of the city. Awe and fear, and the cautious pride that one gave to a tamed hunting cheetah. 

A woman that could transform herself into a divine sphinx would always inspire fear.

The first statue in the procession was the only one carved after Arus’s birth, the newest and the only without a holy name. It was of the sphinx, winged cat with the face and chest of a woman. The rosettes of the body had been carefully chiseled, and that was how Arus knew the statue represented his mother’s divine transformation, even though the statue’s nondescript face had closed eyes and full lips. And large breasts. The old artistic representations of sphinxes on the wall reliefs of the main palace, temples, and tombs had lion bodies - all but one painting in the palace complex that dated back to the first dynasty. Prince Hama discovered the painting of the spotted sphinx and had artisans reproduce it across the kingdom. The Master of Scribes bragged that the revived old sphinx design was the most popular tapestry sold throughout the eight cities. Mehbebli was more honest with Arus, explaining that the true sphinx was seen as the most fitting burial shroud for fallen soldiers, in honor of his mother’s divine strength and her efforts to safeguard their kingdom. O-Sehmket transformed had the dappled pelt of a leopard below her waist, of fur the palest gold and darkest bronze, and her wings were the bright green of papyrus sedge. The statue did not include the horns, each as green as fresh reeds: two that curved around her ears to rest against her cheekbones like those of a ram and the four that spiraled out like the addax to give the divine beast a crown. Horns were hinted at via a single wavy shape on that old painting. The toll of his mother’s magic weighed too heavily on her health to be used in frivolous displays, but only those new to the capital or as young as Arus’s second sister had never seen the divine sphinx form of O-Sehmket. Two years ago Sehmket had transformed at the great plaza, careful to lessen the divine storm that accompanied her accession, and hovered above the palace walls, all to prove to the ambassador from Kirop that the tales of the divinity that protected the Kingdom of the Glass Mountain was no mere exaggeration.

The old priesthood had branded his mother a monstrous mockery because of the discrepancies in known form. Head Priestess We-se called it yet more proof of how deeply the priesthood had strayed from the strictures established during the reign of the first dynasty. And their foolishness: O-Sehmket guarded the subjects of Prince Hama, frightening his enemies and strengthening his rule, and brought pilgrims to the temples. Only the army loved her more, for the destruction she could wrought and the peace that she brokered with the griffins.

Arus’s mother was no prisoner, for it would be nigh on impossible to imprison a woman that could transform into a giant chimeric beast of divine powers and flight. But their rulers could not afford to lose their leash on Sehmket, too dangerous an enemy and too vital to their safety. 

Magical chains were forged, invisible ones crafted by links more precious than metal: lodgings within the palace complex, amnesty for her murders, reforms among the priesthood and the ousting of corrupt ministers, new laws to protect the slaves and widows, the safe borders of the kingdom and the prosperity and happiness of the common subjects, and the preferential alliance with the griffins of the northern mountains. All to hold Sehmket here and summit to the parades around the temple colonnade and transform into the sphinx when demanded.

The strongest chain, Arus knew, was himself and his sisters.

[the-heaminator]

This is Austria to Hungary