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An Overdue Critique ...by a Certain Civilian, September 20, 2011
This review is from: Walt Whitman and the Culture of American Celebrity (Hardcover)
Every student of Walt Whitman will benefit from David Haven Blake's book on celebrity, but every one will also harbor, even if unconsciously, a certain anxiety while reading it. Blake's bold and perceptive analysis of Whitman as a huckster and (almost literally) a purveyor of snake oil has been badly needed for at least a century. The reader's anxiety, however, comes from instinctive misgivings about just how cynical one can afford to become. When does this view of Whitman's strategies approach character assassination? These feelings are all the harder to sort out, because so many of Blake's damning judgments are plainly documented, well-argued, and downright irrefutable.
Whitman scholarship so often exerts a fatal attraction for scholars who cannot tolerate ambiguity that I now call this Gould's Law. As much as any man who ever wrote, Whitman is deeply paradoxical. Unless one seizes both horns of the dilemna du jour and courageously refuses to relinquish either one of them, Whitman's warning will itch at your ears till you understand them: "Already you see I have escaped from you." Does the poet warn us that he very well contradicts himself? No matter; it is the way of the English professor to winnow out the multitudes and groom specific traits. These scholars are passionately interested not only in book-making, but book-selling the completed work, too. Therefore, unfortunately, Gould's Other Law can and will always apply: Our Whitman, ourselves. Like Procrustes, the Lit Prof gladly cuts a giant off at his knees and brings him down to our size--small enough to enter the mousehole of the lowly book author. Cue the inevitable cliche about the "shameless self-promoter."
There are two reasons to recognize that Whitman was simultaneously a snake-oil hawker and a clarion voice of authentic spirituality. The first one is that to open a Whitman biography at almost any page reveals that Whitman's core "sympathy"--characterized by Blake as merely a contemporary literary trope, so cynically co-opted--was radically genuine. The famous story of Whitman driving an omnibus for a week to rescue an injured driver from ruin is just one example; Whitman's heroic Civil War nursing career is even more impressive.
The second reason is at least as important: Whitman constantly speaks of his devotion to "the Cause." Why can't Blake appreciate that there is a universe of difference between potboiler impresario Stephen King's ability to attract crazy stalkers and Whitman's ability to attract the likes of Edward Carpenter (another five-star general in the same Cause)? It's because Blake shows scant regard for either gay rights or spirituality. On page 158, he practically sneers all over "homosexuality... the manipulative kinds of social display common today." Accordingly, Carpenter's example never even merits Blake's notice. Whitman seems to have had Blake firmly envisaged when he addressed "a Certain Civilian."
Ultimately, Blake's celebrity theme acts more as a narrow peephole to snipe at acts of shameless publicity and less as a lens to focus a broad and deep grasp of Victorian America. Because the word "spiritualism" does not belong in Blake's vocabulary, he didn't bother to devote the four minutes that it took me in a Google search to identify that the hymn written on Walt's pasteboard butterfly was nominally Christian, but thoroughly spiritualist. The cultural implications of this fact alone are enormous. He is also tone-deaf to the profound meaning of a "sea captain's widow" serving as Walt's last caretaker--unable to see the reality of two fossils from The Age of Sail caring for each other, long after their era is gone with the wind. By the same token, we can't expect him to see this same vanished world is what Whitman meant when he referred to "the latter half of the Nineteenth Century" (page 13).
In sum, knowing that this book presents a vital and telling view of the trees and an exceedingly naive and cynical view of the forest, I think it's imperative to read it thoughtfully and appreciatively--and I hope you will.
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