Saturday, February 13, 2016

Olaudah Equiano, The Interesting Life of Olaudah Equiano

Class for Monday, Feb 15.  Take your time on this.  Read any sources you wish.  Focus on the way Equiano establishes himself early in the text as he positions himself among his 18th century  readership.

If you can, respond to the questions (choose maybe two and don't spend more than an hour on this) in the response section below.  If you cannot log in there, send me your responses and I will post them as I can.  Try to engage with each other as you see responses posted.  If you notice other important issues that you would like to discuss, you can raise them here too.


1)    The Interesting Narrative of the Life of Olaudah Equiano was wildly popular when it first appeared and went through numerous editions.  It has been called a slave narrative, an abolitionist tract, a spiritual autobiography. 

Pinpoint some sections that you have read: the opening where Equiano maps out his childhood, the chapters where he describes the brutality of slavery as he experienced it, his description of his conversion to Christianity, his plans at the end as he describes them in letter to the queen to colonize Africa.  What do you think is the main purpose of the “life” as Equiano presents it in this text?  Write a paragraph or two and as others respond, engage with each other.

2)    As in other memoirs and auto/biographies that we are looking at, critics and historians are interested in the “truthfulness” or not of what is set on the page for posterity, for the reader.  In Equiano’s memory is the memory of the slave.  When Vincent Carretta claimed in 1999 That he had evidence that Equiano was in fact born in South Carolina and not in Eboe, he created a huge uproar, especially among black scholars. 

What are the implications of the claim that Equiano was not born in Eboe?  What does the “life” and the “narrative” lack if you take away the Eboan roots of the narrator here?

Respond to Brycchan Carey's points below in the chart.  What further would you add?

3)    What is the importance to the narrative of Equiano’s insistence on his Christian conversion?  In Ch IV he tells us of his baptism.  He also calls himself a “black Christian.”  He starts the narrative by suggesting that he is a particular favorite of heaven.  How and to what purpose does his Christianity inform this life as you apprehend it (and based on those sections you have read)?  Remember that, as Equiano understands his birth year, he is just a bit younger than Boswell and a contemporary with him.  Compare and contrast the Christian element in The London Journal and here in The Interesting Narrative.  Do you feel there is a great sincerity or self-servingness with one or the other?

4)     The first time Equiano tries to buy his freedom, he is told by Captain Doran that he "speaks too much English."  How, at the beginning of the text especially but also at other points, does Equiano adopt the languages of the world he has been sold into?  What is your response to this?

http://www.brycchancarey.com/equiano/index.htm

Brycchan Carey on 

Where Was Olaudah Equiano Born?

(And Why Does It Matter?)

Equiano's autobiography, The Interesting Narrative of the Life of Olaudah Equiano, or Gustavus Vassa, the African, published in 1789, is important for many reasons. It is one of the very few texts written in English by a person of African descent during the eighteenth century. It is also one of the first accounts of a journey up from slavery written by one who had personally experienced enslavement. This makes it one of the earliest 'slave narratives'. But is more than merely an account of what it was like to be a slave. In the book, Equiano gives a long and detailed description of life in an African village - the earliest such description in the English language - as well as offering a first-person account of 'the middle passage' - the journey from Africa to America in a slave ship. These were all important parts of a book that appeared in 1789; the year in which the British parliament first seriously debated abolishing the slave trade. (Indeed, we can see The Interesting Narrative as a document of that debate.) Yet they are also significant to this day. Equiano's description of African society is the most important written by an African in the days before European empires severely disrupted African society. And Equiano's description of the middle passage is a reminder of the sufferings of the ancestors of most African American and Black British people alive today. In 1999, however, it was suggested by Vincent Carretta that Equiano may not have been born in Africa but, rather, as a slave in South Carolina. - at that time one of the thirteen British colonies in North America. In addition, Carretta argues that the early parts of Equiano's autobiography, rather than recording first-hand experience, may reflect the oral history of other slaves, combined with information Equiano gleaned from books he had read about Africa. Carretta's evidence, a baptismal record and a muster roll, is compelling. It strongly suggests that the young Equiano told people that his birthplace was South Carolina. Yet this evidence doesn't seem to be quite enough to settle the matter, and historians and critics are divided on the question. On this page, I offer (I hope) both sides of the argument, and leave it to you to make your own mind up. In the column on the left, I have put arguments to suport the view that Equiano was born in Carolina. In the column to the right, I have put arguments to suggest that he was born in Africa. 

1. Written Evidence
Arguments that Equiano was born in Carolina
Arguments that Equiano was born in Africa

  • Equiano's baptismal record at St Margaret’s Church, Westminster, dated 9 February 1759, records that he was born in 'Carolina'.
  • A Royal Navy muster roll from Constantine Phipp’s Arctic expedition of 1773 says that Equiano was born in 'South Carolina'.
  • In both cases, the information almost certainly came from Equiano himself

  • Equiano's own autobiography, The Interesting Narrative, tells us that he was born in Africa
  • This information comes from Equiano himself
2. Circumstantial Biographical Evidence
Arguments that Equiano was born in Carolina
Arguments that Equiano was born in Africa

  • Equiano gets the dates wrong about the ships in which he was brought from America to England which would be consistent with him having made the story up
  • Equiano's account of his life is usually very accurate when it can be checked against independent sources, making it surprising that his account of his first ten years can be shown to be inaccurate in parts
  • Equiano never used the name "Equiano" before publishing his autobiography. All his friends and acquaintances knew him by the name "Gustavus Vassa". He probably made up the name "Olaudah Equiano" as part of the careful construction of an African persona he carried out in 1789

  • Although Equiano gets the dates wrong about the ships in which he was brought from America to England, he was a very young child at the time, and suffering a severe trauma, so it is reasonable to assume that his memory might sometimes be at fault
  • Equiano's account of his life is usually very accurate when it can be checked against independent sources, showing that it was his usual practice to tell the truth as far as he could remember
  • Although Equiano never used his birth name before 1789, this was not unusual. Few slaves or former slaves used their African names. Equiano's friend Quobna Ottobah Cugoano, for example, used his slave name of John Stuart throughout his life, except on the title page of his book (1787)
3. Equiano's Motivation
Arguments that Equiano was born in Carolina
Arguments that Equiano was born in Africa

  • Equiano's main motivation was to end the slave trade, so he would write or say anything in his published work that he thought he could get away with, as long as it brought the abolition of the slave trade closer
  • Equiano had nothing to hide in his early life, so he told the truth about his birthplace to the church clerk at his baptism and to the naval officer who compiled the muster roll in which he gave his birthplace as South Carolina

  • Equiano's main motivation was to end the slave trade, so he would be very careful to tell the truth in his published work and not write or say anything that might bring him or his campaign into disrepute
  • Equiano had been abducted and enslaved and thus wished to hide his true identity by lying about his birthplace to the church clerk at his baptism and to the naval officer who compiled the muster roll in which he gave his birthplace as South Carolina
4. Close Reading of the Text
Arguments that Equiano was born in Carolina
Arguments that Equiano was born in Africa

  • Much of the early part of The Interesting Narrative, in which Equiano describes Africa and the middle passage, closely resembles similar accounts made by European or American authors, for example, by Anthony Benezet. Equiano probably invented his African childhood, and copied information out of books such as these
  • The parts of The Interesting Narrative that describe Africa and the middle passage have a mythological style that makes them unreliable as history

  • Much of the early part of The Interesting Narrative, in which Equiano describes Africa and the middle passage, closely resembles similar accounts made by European or American authors, for example, by Anthony Benezet. Yet Equiano references many of these works, and consulted them in order to help him remember the details of a distant childhood
  • The parts of The Interesting Narrative that describe Africa and the middle passage are good examples of clear reportage that deserve to be taken seriously
5. Contemporary Expectations
Arguments that Equiano was born in Carolina
Arguments that Equiano was born in Africa

  • Readers in the eighteenth century were not fools, and demanded the same high level of honesty and veracity that we would now expect. However, Equiano knew that it would be very difficult for his readers to check the truth, or otherwise, of his account.
  • In the late eighteenth century, there were more poems, plays, and novels written against slavery than there were 'serious' political tracts. Readers would thus have been more interested in hearing general truths about slavery than particular histories, and so wouldn't have cared so much about whether the details of Equiano's story were true

  • Readers in the eighteenth century were not fools, and demanded the same high level of honesty and veracity that we would now expect. Thus, Equiano would not have tried to get away with telling a lie about his African origins - somebody, somewhere, would have known the truth
  • In the late eighteenth century, there were more poems, plays, and novels written against slavery than there were 'serious' political tracts. Equiano would have known that, to be taken seriously, he had to appear as more than just a writer of fiction, but as someone who was telling the whole truth
6. The Realities of Equiano's Life
Arguments that Equiano was born in Carolina
Arguments that Equiano was born in Africa

  • Even though Equiano was born in Carolina, he was a long way from home and, by the 1780s, could get away with saying anything he liked about his past, particularly since communications between England and America had been disrupted in the war of 1775-1783.
  • When Equiano was asked for his place of birth during his childhood baptism, he may not have had at that time a sufficient mastery of the English language to understand the question. (For example, if he had been asked 'where are you from', he may have understood it as 'where have you recently come from'.) However, if this was the case, there is no reason why, as an adult and a fluent English speaker, he would continue to say that he had been born in Carolina, as he later did when joining Constantine Phipp’s Arctic expedition of 1773.

  • Despite the war, links between England and America were still close. Had he been lying, sooner or later someone in America would have detected his falsehood, particularly after his book was published in New York in 1791.
  • Equiano knew that the most intensive search would be made by proslavery campaigners to discredit him. Therefore, he would not have attempted to invent a new identity and birthplace.
  • When Equiano was asked for his place of birth during his childhood baptism, he may not have had at that time a sufficient mastery of the English language to understand the question. (For example, if he had been asked 'where are you from', he may have understood it as 'where have you recently come from'.) Once the mistake was in writing on his baptismal record, he might have chosen to simply accept the error as unimportant.
7. Equiano's Psychological State
Arguments that Equiano was born in Carolina
Arguments that Equiano was born in Africa

  • As a terrified and traumatised child, the young Equiano would have been too afraid to tell anything other than the truth when asked for his place of birth at his baptism ceremony.

  • As a terrified and traumatised child, the young Equiano may have been too afraid to tell the truth when asked for his place of birth at his baptism ceremony.
  • Many children, especially traumatised children, invent stories to explain their origins. Many such people come to terms with their trauma in later life. This might explain why Equiano tells one story when younger, and another when older.
8. The Bottom Line
The bottom line is that we just don't know. As the above table shows, there is evidence on both sides of the debate. Just about the only thing we can say for certain is that, when he was younger, Equiano told people he was from Carolina, but when he was older, he told people he was from Africa. Whether you believe the younger Equiano or the older Equiano is entirely up to you...

These are just some of the arguments in favour of, and against, the proposition that Equiano was born in South Carolina and not Africa. I have explored these arguments in more depth in an article published in 2008 in the journal 1650-1850:
You may also like to look in the Equiano Bibliography for further reading. Carretta's original arguments can be found in the academic journal Slavery and Abolition, in the introduction to his second edition of The Interesting Narrative, and in his biography of Equiano. See:
  • Vincent Carretta, Equiano, the African: Biography of a Self Made Man (University of Georgia Press, 2005). 
  • Vincent Carretta, 'Olaudah Equiano or Gustavus Vassa? New Light on an Eighteenth-century Question of Identity', Slavery and Abolition, 20, 3 (December 1999), 96-105
  • Vincent Carretta, 'Introduction' in The Interesting Narrative and Other Writings, edited with an introduction and notes by Vincent Carretta (London and New York: Penguin, 2003), pp. x-xi.


Text © Brycchan Carey 2003-2013

Henry Louis Gates, The Trials of Phillis Wheatley


Henry Louis Gates, Jr. e Trials of Phillis Wheatley: America’s First Black Poet and Her Encounters with the Founding Fathers. New York: Basic Books, 2003. ix + 129 pp. $18.95 (cloth), ISBN 978-0-465-02729-3.

Reviewed by Babacar M’Baye (Department of English and Department of Pan-African Studies, Kent State University) Published on H-USA (April, 2004)
Phillis Wheatley and omas Jefferson: e Birth of African-AmericanLiterary Criticism
In e Trials of Phillis Wheatley: America’s First Black Poet and Her Encounters with the Founding Fathers, Henry Louis Gates, Jr., examines the significance of the work of the eighteenth-century African-American poet Phillis Wheatley in three ways: (1) through analysis of Wheat- ley’s intellectual bales with a White leadership that viewed the Black race as inferior; (2) through a study of the author’s status as an African slave in America; and (3) through an exploration of the poet’s impact in how Americans, Whites and Blacks, have, since before the publication of omas Jefferson’s Notes on the State of Virginia (1787), viewed race in narrow and dichotomous terms. By prioritizing Wheatley’s status as an African slave who proved through her work that Blacks were hu- man, Gates makes significant contributions not only to the growing scholarship in Black Atlantic Studies, but also to the inquiries on the history of race in America, especially the historical construction of Whiteness as an essential identity that subsumes Blackness. Tracing the beginnings of a long tradition of White imagination of Blackness, Gates reveals, through analysis of a vast liter- ature spanning from the writings of Jefferson and of ear- lier intellectuals to the work of critics of the Black Arts Movement of the 1960s, the large impact that Wheatley’s work has had on American culture.
First, e Trials of Phillis Wheatley contributes to the groundbreaking studies on Wheatley that have emerged since the 1990s and earlier from the scholars of the Black Atlantic world. According to Paul Gilroy, the term “Black Atlantic world” refers to the transformations that resulted from “this historical conjunction–the stereo- phonic, bilingual, or bifocal cultural forms originated by, but no longer the exclusive property of, blacks dispersed within the structures of feeling, producing, communi- cating, and remembering.”[1] is scholarship is mainly concerned with the historical and cultural connections, disconnections, and struggles among Black communities from around the world. Migration and resistance are
major dynamics of this Black Atlantic world. As Gilroy wrote: “e history of the black Atlantic since then, con- tinually crisscrossed by the movement of black people– not only as commodities–but engaged in various strug- gles towards emancipation, autonomy, and citizenship, is a means to re-examine the problems of nationality, loca- tion, identity, and historical memory.”[2]
e Trials of Phillis Wheatley contributes to the in- quiry that Gilroy outlines above because it represents Wheatley as a major participant in the struggle for free- dom and equality in the Black Diaspora. First, as Gates suggests, Wheatley’s resistance might have begun on the slave-ship called the Phillis which brought her to Boston on July 11, 1761, when she was about seven years old (pp. 16-17). According to Gates, among the cargo of the ship, which had recently returned from gathering slaves in Senegal, Sierra Leone, and the Isles de Los, off the coast of Guinea, was “a slender frail, female child” who was probably from the Senegambian coast of Africa (p. 16). Although he identifies Wheatley as a Senegambian, Gates does not examine the historical circumstances in West Africa which led to Wheatley’s enslavement. In this sense, e Trials of Phillis Wheatley is narrow and par- ticularist because it does not reflect the “Africancentric” approach to Black Atlantic history which, as Paul Love- joy suggests in Identity in the Shadow of Slavery (2000), “introduces a perspective that is not centered in the his- tory of Europe or colonial America but instead in trans- Atlantic origins.”[3]
Nevertheless, Gates’s book is, to a limited degree, “trans-Atlantic” since it reflects the influence of Wheat- ley’s work in the international formation of a Black At- lantic literary culture. Referring to Vincent Carea, a major scholar of eighteenth-century Black Atlantic liter- ature, Gates argues that a 1772 court ruling in England, which “made it illegal for slaves who had come to Eng- land to be forcibly returned to the colonies,” helped create a positive atmosphere for Blacks (p. 31). Despite its in-
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volvement in slavery, England, unlike the United States, gave Black intellectuals the opportunity to publish their writings. As Gates shows, in 1772, when Wheatley finally received from her eighteen White examiners a document aesting to her ability to write literature, her benefac- tor and owner Susanna Wheatley turned to her friends in England for help (p. 30). Gates explains: “rough the captain of the commercial ship that John Wheatley used for trade with England, Susanna engaged a London publisher, Archibald Bell, to bring out the manuscript” (p. 31). Gates continues: “And so, against the greatest odds, Poems on Various Subjects, Religious and Moral became the first book of poetry published by a person of African descent in the English language, marking the beginning of an African-American literary tradition” (p. 31).
e scant data on Wheatley’s biography shows that there are key experiences such as the events that led to Wheatley’s capture and the predicaments that the child faced during the Middle Passage that remain to be known. Another difficulty in the scholarship about Wheatley is the lack of information on the interactions that Wheatley had in her early career with her White critics. Gates writes: “We had no transcript of the ex- changes that occurred between Miss Wheatley and her eighteen examiners” (p. 29). Gates gives a detailed list of these critics, who included omas Hutchinson, who was the governor of Massachuses between 1769 and 1774; Andrew Oliver, a Harvard graduate and “the colony’s lieutenant governor (and Hutchinson’s brother-in-law through his wife’s sister)” (p. 8); the Reverend Mather Byles, who was another Harvard graduate and a Tory Loyalist; the poet and satirist Joseph Green; the Reverend Samuel Cooper, who was a poet, Harvard graduate, and minister nicknamed “the silver-tongued preacher” (pp. 10-11); James Bowdoin, who was “one of the principal American exemplars of the Enlightenment” (p. 11); the Reverend Samuel Mather, known as “one of the greatest in New England” (p. 14); and many other White digni- taries of Boston.
In order to understand the purpose of the examin- ers’ meeting with Wheatley, one must read the essay “e Day When America Decided at Blacks Were of a Species at Could Create Literature” that Gates wrote in e Journal of Blacks in Higher Education in Autumn 1994.[4] In that article, Gates asked a series of ques- tions on the relations between the White leadership and Wheatley in eighteenth-century America. Referring to a meeting that 18 notable White men of Boston held in the city’s courthouse in the spring of 1772 to give Wheat- ley an “oral examination” about her work, Gates asked: “Why had this august group been assembled? Why had
it seen fit to summon this young African girl, scarcely 18 years old, before it?” Gates later wondered: “Why was the creative writing of the African of such impor- tance to the eighteenth century’s debate over slavery?- ” (p. 51) Seeking to answer these questions, Gates sug- gested that the White men’s aitude was a product of the belief of both Americans and Europeans in the incapacity of Africans to produce literature, an assumption which, as Gates argued, was antithetical to the Cartesian tenets of the Enlightenment movement which equated reason to humanity (p. 51).
In e Trials of Phillis Wheatley, Gates takes his in- quiry further by raising serious issues about the rela- tionships between the White leadership in eighteenth- century America and African-American literature. In an aempt to understand the obstacles that Wheatley had to overcome in America for being a Black woman intellec- tual, Gates traces them to the racialist discourse which surrounded her poetry on that meeting which was held in Boston one aernoon in October 1772. Gates writes: “e panel had been assembled to verify the authorship of her poems and to answer a much larger question: was a Negro capable of producing literature?” (p. 5). In this gathering, Gates identifies an important moment in African-American literature: “eir interrogation of this witness, and her answers, would determine not only this woman’s fate but the subsequent direction of the anti- slavery movement, as well as the birth of what a later commentator would call ’a new species of literature,’ the literature wrien by slaves” (p. 7).
Later, Gates discusses the importance of Wheatley’s experience by focusing on the arrival, life, and work of the poet and how they were transformed for the bet- ter and for the worse by the racist discourse of the En- lightenment movement that inspired her American crit- ics. Using both up-to-date and early sources, Gates re- veals the strong impact of racism on how Wheatley’s work has been interpreted from the eighteenth century to the 1970s.
First, Gates describes the relations between Jeffer- son and Wheatley as similar to those between a bi- ased critic of African-American literature and a genuine African-American writer. e interaction between the two individuals was tainted by the subtle racism that prevented Jefferson from acknowledging the merit of Wheatley’s poems. Taking part in the racist tradition in which philosophers of the Renaissance and of the En- lightenment such as Francis Bacon, David Hume, Im- manuel Kant, and Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel mis- represented Blacks as people who possessed no arts, sci-
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ences, or feeling, Jefferson was prone to demean not only Wheatley’s Poems but also the entire Black race. Gates writes: “omas Jefferson had associated Africans with apes: black males find white women more beautiful than black women, Jefferson had argued, as ’uniformly as is the preference of the Orangutan for the black woman over his own species”’ (p. 26). Jefferson’s racism, Gates suggests, resonated with the Elizabethan conception of the Great Chain of Being, which excluded Black people from the human family.[5]
Paradoxically, as Gates shows, unlike the European Enlightenment thinkers, Jefferson “has qualified praise for the African’s musical propensities” (p. 43). Gates refers to the passage in Notes on the State of Virginia where Jefferson described Blacks as being “more gener- ally gied than whites with accurate ears for tune and time” (p. 43). Another paradox Gates reveals is that Jef- ferson, who was clearly a racist philosopher, coinciden- tally became the first critic of African-American litera- ture. Gates describes a leer that Jefferson received from his French colleague Fran=ois, “the Marquis de Barb=- Marbois,” in which the author commended Wheatley for having published “a number of poems in which there is imagination, poetry, and zeal” (p. 42). As Gates points out, Jefferson was not pleased by such high appraisal and was quick to prove the contrary to the French critic. Gates explains: “As outlined in eries VI and XIV of the Notes, Jefferson lays out clearly his views. ’e compo- sitions published under her name are below the dignity of criticism.’ e criticism comes in a passage seing out his views on the mental capacity of the various races of man. ’In general, their existence appears to participate more of sensation than reflection,’ Jefferson writes about blacks” (p. 42).
Later, as Gates argues, Jefferson took a harsher tone towards Wheatley and Black people, saying: “Misery is oen the parent of the most affecting touches in poetry. Among the blacks is misery enough, God knows, but no poetry. Love is the peculiar oestrum of the poet. eir love is ardent, but it kindles the senses only, not the imag- ination. Religion, indeed, has produced a Phillis Weatley [sic]; but it could not produce a poet” (p. 44).
Having stated Jefferson’s racist positions, Gates then gave another perspective on the Founding Father. He writes: “He [Jefferson] believed that Africans have hu- man souls, they merely lack the intellectual endowments of other races. Like his contemporaries, he separated ’what we would call intelligence from the capacity for religious experience.’ is division allows for both the religious conversion of slaves, as well as for the perpetu-
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ation of the principle of black inferiority. Guilt, as well as the growing evidence that blacks are indeed Homo Sapi- ens, meant that Africans could no longer be regarded as brutes. So Jefferson accepted the souls and humanity of slaves, while still maintaining their inferiority. Phillis is, for Jefferson, an example of a product of religion, of mindless repetition and imitation, without being the product of intellect, of reflection. True art requires a sub- lime combination of feeling and reflection” (p. 44).
Gates’s argument that Jefferson’s racism belied his guilt-ridden conscience about Black humanity is perti- nent, because it sheds light on a major figure of Amer- ican history whose views on race are fraught with con- tradictions. Reading the 1964 edition of Notes on the State of Virginia, one can see that Jefferson’s dualism towards Blacks also stemmed from fear, since he was deeply con- vinced that the human beings he had enslaved would by virtue of their natural rights seek vengeance when op- portunity arose. Because he was afraid of alliance be- tween runaway slaves and the British army, Jefferson de- vised a code for the repatriation of slaves to Africa. He wrote: “[e] revised code further proposes to propor- tion crimes and punishments ... pardon and privilege of clergy are proposed to be abolished; but if the ver- dict be against the defendant, the court in their discre- tion may allow a new trial. No aainder to cause a cor- ruption of blood, or forfeiture of dower. Slaves guilty of offences punishable in others by labor, to be transported to Africa, or elsewhere, as the circumstances of the time admit, there to be continued in slavery. A rigorous regi- ment proposed for those condemned to labor.”[6]
As the above statement shows, Jefferson’s views on African-Americans did then have a transatlantic dimen- sion, since it anticipated the idea of return to Africa, which, from a non-racist perspective, was popular among nineteenth-century Black nationalists such as Martin Robinson Delany and Alexander Crummel. It would have been good for Gates to place Jefferson’s racism and Wheatley’s resistance in the crucial discourses about the connections between race and Africa in which African- American intellectuals have participated since slavery. In fact, Gates had the opportunity to do so in his analysis of Wheatley’s 1768 poem “On Being Brought from Africa to America.” e poem, which is quoted in Gates’s book, reads:
’Twas mercy brought me from my Pagan land, Taught my benighted soul to understand at there’s a God, that there is a Saviour too: Once I redemption neither sought nor knew. Some view our sable race with scornful eye, “eir colour is a diabolic die,” Remember, Christians, Ne-
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gros, black as Cain, May be refin’d, and join th’ angelic train. (pp. 70-71)
In this poem Wheatley ambiguously calls Africa “my Pagan land” while she celebrates her Blackness and her Christian faith. As Gates shows, “On Being Brought” has unfortunately become “the most reviled poem in African- American literature” for the following reasons: “To speak in such glowing terms about the ’mercy’ manifested by the slave trade was not exactly going to endear Miss Wheatley to black power advocates in the 1960s” (p. 71). Gates’s rationale weakens the importance of “On Be- ing Brought” because the poem, which is fraught with contradictions in Wheatley’s relationship to Africa, can help us understand the poet’s views on the relations be- tween the Black Atlantic world and Africa. In this sense, the criticisms of Wheatley’s aitudes about race, which Gates summarizes and debunks in the second half of his book, are not meaningless, because they help us posi- tion a major Black intellectual in the current conversa- tion about the global significance of racial identity and social struggle. Frankly, one wonders why Gates seems to be irritated by twentieth-century Black critics such as Stephen Henderson, Addison Gayle, Jr., and Amiri Baraka, who he aacks for either re-enacting Jefferson’s indictment of Wheatley (p. 82) or for seeking “forms of black expression” or “cultural affirmation” in Wheatley’s work (pp. 74-84). Gates writes: “Too black to be taken se- riously by white critics of the eighteenth century, Wheat- ley was now considered too white to interest black critics of the twentieth. Precisely the sort of mastery of the liter- ary cra and themes that led to her vindication before the Boston town-hall tribunal was now summoned as proof that she was, culturally, an impostor.... As new cultural vanguards sought to police and patrol the boundaries of black art, Wheatley’s glorious carriage would become her tumbril” (p. 82).
Gates’s comment reflects conflictive views about race and national or cultural identity. It is unseling to know that Gates, who uses African iconography in his theorizing of African-American literature, is nonethe- less disturbed when critics try to do the same thing with Wheatley’s work. Referring to the critics of the Black Arts Movement, Gates writes: “We can almost imagine Wheatley being frog-marched through hall in the nineteen-sixties or seventies, surrounded by dashiki- clad, flowering figures of ’the Revolution’: ’What is Ogun’s Relation to Esu?’: ’Who are the sixteen principal deities in the Yoruba pantheon of Gods?’ ’Santeria de- rived from which African culture?’ And finally ’Where you gonna be when the revolution comes, sista?”’ (pp. 83-84). is statement reflects a condescension toward
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the same African culture that Gates celebrates in e Sig- nifying Monkey: A eory of Afro-American Literary Crit- icism (1988), where he traces “the black voice” in African- American literature to Esu Elegbera, the Yoruba trickster who has the power to create free-play and indetermi- nacy in the Black text. Esu received this power from a calabash that the High God Olorun [or Olodumare] in Yoruba mythology gave him.[7] If Gates is apprehen- sive about African-centric interpretations of Wheatley’s work, why does he end e Trials of Phillis Wheatley with an anagram-translated form of “On Being Brought” in which the narrator says:
Aren’t African men born to be free? So Am I. Ye com- mit so brute a crime On us. But we can change thy ai- tude. America, manumit our race. I thank the Lord. (p. 88)
e line “Aren’t African men born to be free?- ” is a Pan-Africanist statement that cannot be inter- preted without reference to the transnational dimensions of Wheatley’s cultural or political views on Blackness, Africa, and America. In this sense, as Gates points out at the end of his book, the question is not so much “to read white, or read black; it is to read” (p. 89). Yet a bal- anced reading of Wheatley’s poems must validate the au- thor’s ideas about Africa and Blackness as well as those she had about America and Whiteness. Re-interpreting Wheatley’s work requires analysis of the racist histori- cal contexts and myths that confronted the author. Yet it also requires a study of the role that home, racial iden- tity, resistance, and tradition, conceived both locally and transnationally, played in her life and work.
e Trials of Phillis Wheatley makes great contribu- tions to Black Atlantic Studies in its own ways by repre- senting Wheatley as an African slave who achieved rad- ical transformations in her status and in that of the en- tire African race through intellectual means. e most pleasurable moment in the book is when Gates writes: “Essentially, she [Wheatley] was auditioning for the hu- manity of the entire African people” (p. 27). Some fieen years aer she was brought to America as slave, Wheat- ley became the first Black writer to publish a poem, dis- mantling the racist view that Black people were not in- telligent or human. As Gates has convincingly shown in his book, Wheatley’s success has had a strong impact on American culture, notably on omas Jefferson’s views on race and African-American literature and on the tra- dition of minimizing Wheatley’s work that it has engen- dered. However, though it is warranted, Gates’s critique of Jefferson’s legacy in Black literary criticism is prob- lematic because it centers mainly on the critics of the
4
page5image392
Black Arts Movement who rightfully seek racial and/or cultural affirmation and authenticity in Wheatley’s po- ems. ese critics were simply trying to place Wheatley’s work in the global history of the struggle and survival of Black people and cultures.
Notes
[1]. Paul Gilroy, e Black Atlantic: Modernity and Double Consciousness (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1993), p. 3.
[2]. Paul Gilroy, “Cultural Studies and Ethnic Abso- lutism,” in Lawrence Greenberg, et al., eds., Cultural Stud- ies (London and New York: Routledge, 1992), p. 193.
[3]. Paul E. Lovejoy, ed., Identity in the Shadow of Slavery (London and New York: Continuum, 2000), p. 1.
[4]. In the preface to e Trials of Phillis Wheatley, Gates says that his book “is an expanded version of the omas Jefferson Lecture in Humanities” that he deliv- ered at the Library of Congress in March 2002 (p. 1). While this is accurate, some of the arguments that Gates
H-Net Reviews
develops in the book have their roots in the early essay. See Henry Louis Gates, Jr., “e Day When America De- cided at Blacks Were of a Species at Could Create Literature,” Journal of Blacks in Higher Education 5 (Au- tumn 1994): pp. 50-51.
[5]. See Winthrop D. Jordan, White over Black: Amer- ican Aitudes toward the Negro, 1550-1812 (Williamsburg: e University of North Carolina Press, 1968), pp. 219- 220; Arthur P. Lovejoy, e Great Chain of Being: A Study of the History of an Idea (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1964), pp. 58-60.
[6]. omas Jefferson, Notes on the State of Virginia (New York: Harper Torchbooks, 1964), p. 139.
[7]. In e Signifying Monkey, Gates describes Esu Elegbera as the messenger of the Yoruba god Ifa. Esu has a calabash given to him by Olorun, the god’s emissary. e Calabash has the power to propagate itself (p. 8). e calabash also has the “ASE,” the element with which Olodumare, the supreme deity created the universe (p. 7).
If there is additional discussion of this review, you may access it through the list discussion logs at: hp://h-net.msu.edu/cgi-bin/logbrowse.pl.
Citation: Babacar M’Baye. Review of Gates, Henry Louis, Jr., e Trials of Phillis Wheatley: America’s First Black Poet and Her Encounters with the Founding Fathers. H-USA, H-Net Reviews. April, 2004.
URL: hp://www.h-net.org/reviews/showrev.php?id=9210
Copyright © 2004 by H-Net, all rights reserved. H-Net permits the redistribution and reprinting of this work for nonprofit, educational purposes, with full and accurate aribution to the author, web location, date of publication, originating list, and H-Net: Humanities & Social Sciences Online. For any other proposed use, contact the Reviews editorial staff at hbooks@mail.h-net.msu.edu. 

Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Bibliography

Here are secondary works complementing the materials we study.  I am posting here both your reports as well as some other works we gather collectively.


Other resources:

Louis Gates Jr., Henry. The Trials of Phyllis Wheatley: America’s First Black Poet and Her First

Encounters with the Founding Fathers. New York, NY: Basic Civitas Books, 2003. Print.

Hermione Lee. Essays on Life-writing.  London: Chatto & Windus, 2005.

Your reports:


Kiersten:

Lovejoy, Paul E. "Autobiography and Memory: Gustavus Vassa, Alias Olaudah Equiano, The African." Slavery & Abolition 27.3 (2006): 317-347. Academic Search Complete. Web.
            In Autobiography and Memory: Gustavus Vassa, Alias Olaudah Equiano, The African, Paul Lovejoy examines the question of Gustavus Vassa’s birthplace with a focus on the “relationship between autobiography and memory” (318).  Lovejoy weighs the evidence on each side of the argument with this relationship in mind, and ultimately asserts that Vassa was indeed born in Africa and was telling the truth of his early life considering “the reasons why individuals remember what they do and the ways in which memory is confirmed and embellished and in this case perhaps distorted for reasons worth considering” (318).
            Lovejoy starts out the article by explaining the paramount influence of Vassa and The Interesting Narrative on the abolitionist movement in England. He addresses evidence and different scholars that claim that Vassa was not born in Africa and instead got the information from his autobiography from other sources. Lovejoy asserts that whether or not Vassa’s experiences were not his own, his autobiography’s effect on the abolitionist movement would have been the same. Through this, he presents the problem of “verification and perspective in using autobiography for scholarly purposes” (319). He goes on to describe The Interesting Narrative’s widespread use among scholars for information about the Bight of Biafra and The Middle Passage, and the consequential importance for Vassa’s accounts to be true and authentic. This importance for authenticity, Lovejoy adds, came not just from scholars but from the public, saying “his book sold well because he was an ‘authentic’ African” (320). The problem with this, he explains, is that Vassa’s reliance on his own memory is what’s in question, and his memory is inherently unreliable. Naturally, Vassa will have remembered certain things which could be unclear, and forgotten others, especially as a young child.
            Lovejoy also explains the significance of Vassa’s given name and addresses the argument that Vassa never used his African name and thus, didn’t have one to begin with. The name Gustavus Vassa formally belonged to a famous Swedish national hero and king. Lovejoy asserts that Vassa’s reluctance to accept his name in the autobiography was “a literary device to make the point that his destiny was predetermined” (321), and that just like the Swedish Vassa, he was to lead his people out of bondage. Lovejoy points out that Vassa did used his African name, but only along with his given name, and went by Vassa because it “drew on public knowledge of the history of his Swedish namesake” and “figured into the London imagination as an image of an African ones comparable to the Swedish model” (322). In this way, Lovejoy argues, Vassa used his given name intentionally for political purposes.
            As the article continues, Lovejoy acknowledges the famous baptismal record from St. Margaret’s Church that says Vassa was born in South Carolina. This record is significant not only because it contradicts Vassa’s alleged place of birth, but because it challenges the age he gives for arriving in England (323). Lovejoy explains that the variations in dates, in and out of the autobiography, are “the attempt of the adult Vassa to reconstruct his childhood” (324). He goes on to say that “the internal evidence suggests that he was using his age of enslavement as a constant in his efforts at chronological reconstruction, not his date of birth” (325) and if that was the case, the dates would match up. Lovejoy says that regardless of the documentation, the circumstantial evidence points to Vassa telling the truth, keeping in mind that “memory, autobiography and what actually happened are not the same, and hence the attempt to chronicle Vassa’s childhood is indeed fraught with uncertainties subject to interpretation” (325).
            Another subject of contention between scholars has been the assertion that Vassa could have learned details about the Igbo through other sources and not through personal experience. Indeed, Vassa thoroughly explains many details of the culture that were not common knowledge. Lovejoy addresses this by saying these memories “could well be based on Vassa’s own memory, probably embellished with information that he learned from other Igbo speakers in London, but nonetheless, deriving from his own experience” (326). In other words, he is not ruling out the possibility that Vassa’s memory could be altered by other accounts of the culture and region, but is simply saying that doesn’t mean he didn’t have the experiences that he claims he did. As he states throughout the article, autobiographical accounts aren’t necessarily accounts of what actually happened, but rely on the author’s memory, which is subject to distortion in many ways. For Lovejoy, the issue isn’t whether or not Vassa was born in Africa (and all of the implications that follow from that) but whether or not his 11-year old memory can be trusted and how valid it is, considering the weight that the scholarly community has put on his accounts of the Middle Passage and other events.
            Lovejoy continues his argument by presenting circumstantial evidence that proves the Igbo was Vassa’s mother tongue. Some of this evidence comes from friends and associates of his that confirmed he didn’t know anything but his African language when he arrived in Britain. They couldn’t verify whether or not he was born in Africa, but noted that he publicly stated he was born there. The most convincing argument for this, Lovejoy explains, is Vassa’s employment  by and relationship with Dr. Irving. In spite of documentation from the Arctic expedition with Irving that states Vassa was born in South Carolina, “Dr. Irving must have been convinced of Vassa’s African birth, because two years later, in 1775, Irving employed him in his abortive Mosquito Shore venture, precisely because of his alleged fluency in an ‘African’ language, presumably Igbo” (332). Apparently, Dr. Irving brought Vassa on this trip to identify which of his own “countrymen” were to be purchased, and relied on his knowledge of the Igbo language to do just that. For Lovejoy, this is persuasive proof that Vassa was born in Africa, because he would have had almost no opportunity to learn the Igbo language in any place but Africa, and if he didn’t know the language, he would have been no use to Irving in his venture (333).
            In closing, Lovejoy explains some of the criticism of Vassa in his day and Vassa’s response to it. In being questioned to his credibility, Vassa himself stated that his account was “an ‘imperfect sketch my memory has furnished me with the manners and customs of a people among whom I first drew my breath’ and acknowledged that he had gained information from some of the ‘numbers of the natives of Eboe’ he encountered in London” (335-336). Lovejoy speculates as to why Vassa would have claimed a South Carolina birth in his lifetime and the influence of his autobiography regardless of his birthplace, but recognizes that it does matter whether or not he was telling the truth. At any rate, he concludes that while autobiography can be used to reconstruct historical events, it “is not an accurate indicator of memory, and memory is not an exact replica of what actually happened” and adds that we must examine what people remember and why. He finishes by stating that “variance in detail between what is stated and what probably happened is a methodological problem that faces anyone working with autobiography” (338-339).

Academic Search Complete. Web.

            In Autobiography and Memory: Gustavus Vassa, Alias Olaudah Equiano, The African, Paul Lovejoy examines the question of Gustavus Vassa’s birthplace with a focus on the “relationship between autobiography and memory” (318).  Lovejoy weighs the evidence on each side of the argument with this relationship in mind, and ultimately asserts that Vassa was indeed born in Africa and was telling the truth of his early life considering “the reasons why individuals remember what they do and the ways in which memory is confirmed and embellished and in this case perhaps distorted for reasons worth considering” (318).
            Lovejoy starts out the article by explaining the paramount influence of Vassa and The Interesting Narrative on the abolitionist movement in England. He addresses evidence and different scholars that claim that Vassa was not born in Africa and instead got the information from his autobiography from other sources. Lovejoy asserts that whether or not Vassa’s experiences were not his own, his autobiography’s effect on the abolitionist movement would have been the same. Through this, he presents the problem of “verification and perspective in using autobiography for scholarly purposes” (319). He goes on to describe The Interesting Narrative’s widespread use among scholars for information about the Bight of Biafra and The Middle Passage, and the consequential importance for Vassa’s accounts to be true and authentic. This importance for authenticity, Lovejoy adds, came not just from scholars but from the public, saying “his book sold well because he was an ‘authentic’ African” (320). The problem with this, he explains, is that Vassa’s reliance on his own memory is what’s in question, and his memory is inherently unreliable. Naturally, Vassa will have remembered certain things which could be unclear, and forgotten others, especially as a young child.
            Lovejoy also explains the significance of Vassa’s given name and addresses the argument that Vassa never used his African name and thus, didn’t have one to begin with. The name Gustavus Vassa formally belonged to a famous Swedish national hero and king. Lovejoy asserts that Vassa’s reluctance to accept his name in the autobiography was “a literary device to make the point that his destiny was predetermined” (321), and that just like the Swedish Vassa, he was to lead his people out of bondage. Lovejoy points out that Vassa did used his African name, but only along with his given name, and went by Vassa because it “drew on public knowledge of the history of his Swedish namesake” and “figured into the London imagination as an image of an African ones comparable to the Swedish model” (322). In this way, Lovejoy argues, Vassa used his given name intentionally for political purposes.
            As the article continues, Lovejoy acknowledges the famous baptismal record from St. Margaret’s Church that says Vassa was born in South Carolina. This record is significant not only because it contradicts Vassa’s alleged place of birth, but because it challenges the age he gives for arriving in England (323). Lovejoy explains that the variations in dates, in and out of the autobiography, are “the attempt of the adult Vassa to reconstruct his childhood” (324). He goes on to say that “the internal evidence suggests that he was using his age of enslavement as a constant in his efforts at chronological reconstruction, not his date of birth” (325) and if that was the case, the dates would match up. Lovejoy says that regardless of the documentation, the circumstantial evidence points to Vassa telling the truth, keeping in mind that “memory, autobiography and what actually happened are not the same, and hence the attempt to chronicle Vassa’s childhood is indeed fraught with uncertainties subject to interpretation” (325).
            Another subject of contention between scholars has been the assertion that Vassa could have learned details about the Igbo through other sources and not through personal experience. Indeed, Vassa thoroughly explains many details of the culture that were not common knowledge. Lovejoy addresses this by saying these memories “could well be based on Vassa’s own memory, probably embellished with information that he learned from other Igbo speakers in London, but nonetheless, deriving from his own experience” (326). In other words, he is not ruling out the possibility that Vassa’s memory could be altered by other accounts of the culture and region, but is simply saying that doesn’t mean he didn’t have the experiences that he claims he did. As he states throughout the article, autobiographical accounts aren’t necessarily accounts of what actually happened, but rely on the author’s memory, which is subject to distortion in many ways. For Lovejoy, the issue isn’t whether or not Vassa was born in Africa (and all of the implications that follow from that) but whether or not his 11-year old memory can be trusted and how valid it is, considering the weight that the scholarly community has put on his accounts of the Middle Passage and other events.
            Lovejoy continues his argument by presenting circumstantial evidence that proves the Igbo was Vassa’s mother tongue. Some of this evidence comes from friends and associates of his that confirmed he didn’t know anything but his African language when he arrived in Britain. They couldn’t verify whether or not he was born in Africa, but noted that he publicly stated he was born there. The most convincing argument for this, Lovejoy explains, is Vassa’s employment  by and relationship with Dr. Irving. In spite of documentation from the Arctic expedition with Irving that states Vassa was born in South Carolina, “Dr. Irving must have been convinced of Vassa’s African birth, because two years later, in 1775, Irving employed him in his abortive Mosquito Shore venture, precisely because of his alleged fluency in an ‘African’ language, presumably Igbo” (332). Apparently, Dr. Irving brought Vassa on this trip to identify which of his own “countrymen” were to be purchased, and relied on his knowledge of the Igbo language to do just that. For Lovejoy, this is persuasive proof that Vassa was born in Africa, because he would have had almost no opportunity to learn the Igbo language in any place but Africa, and if he didn’t know the language, he would have been no use to Irving in his venture (333).
            In closing, Lovejoy explains some of the criticism of Vassa in his day and Vassa’s response to it. In being questioned to his credibility, Vassa himself stated that his account was “an ‘imperfect sketch my memory has furnished me with the manners and customs of a people among whom I first drew my breath’ and acknowledged that he had gained information from some of the ‘numbers of the natives of Eboe’ he encountered in London” (335-336). Lovejoy speculates as to why Vassa would have claimed a South Carolina birth in his lifetime and the influence of his autobiography regardless of his birthplace, but recognizes that it does matter whether or not he was telling the truth. At any rate, he concludes that while autobiography can be used to reconstruct historical events, it “is not an accurate indicator of memory, and memory is not an exact replica of what actually happened” and adds that we must examine what people remember and why. He finishes by stating that “variance in detail between what is stated and what probably happened is a methodological problem that faces anyone working with autobiography” (338-339).


Buchanan, David. The Treasure of Auchinleck: The Story of the Boswell Papers. New York:                      McGraw-Hill, 1974. Print.


Randall 
Buchanan’s The Treasure of Auchinleck
            David Buchanan’s 1974 publication of The Treasure of Auchinleck: The Story of the Boswell Papers tells of the massive undertaking to bring more of James Boswell’s writing to the public. Before the early twentieth-century, much of his writing remained scattered in boxes, uncatalogued and unread. Although Boswell published journals, letters, essays, poetry, and his famous The Life of Samuel Johnson, there remained hundreds of pages of yet discovered material, including The London Journal 1762–1763. In Buchanan’s book he tells of his father’s efforts (Eric Buchanan) and the obsessed Colonel Ralph Heyward Isham attempts to bring Boswell’s papers to light. His father served “many years as Isham’s lawyer in Scotland” (Buchanan xiii). Thus his involvement proves integral in this publication that brings to life much of Boswell.           
            Buchanan claims that Isham fought an “epic battle in trying to salvage” Boswell’s lost papers, and in the end succeeded to “reassemble the scattered papers of James Boswell” (xiii). In his preface, Buchanan states that his original goal “was not to write a book, but merely to undertake research. As time went by, however, the scope of this research expanded so greatly that a detailed history of the Boswell papers became the logical end-product” (xiv). Although readers long thought of Boswell only “as Johnson’s biographer,” the emergence of his papers in the twentieth-century accredited him “remarkable posthumous renewal of fame” (Turnbull i). Without their discovery, only a small fraction of what we know about Boswell would have been brought to light.
            The London Journal was first published in 1950 and republished by F.A. Pottle in 1951 with “a 42-page history of the Boswell papers” (Buchanan xiv). As a person interested in reception history and book history, I appreciate the narrative approach of Buchanan to tell the story of Boswell past his most-famed work. Due to the nature of relationships during his day, Boswell recorded much of his life and political and social history through letters with his friends and acquaintances. In his will, Boswell left many of his papers to family members and to his closest friends, urging them not to reveal their contents to the public. Buchanan writes that Boswell’s “policy of complete frankness about himself and others gave him good reason to ask Malone [one of Boswell’s closest friends] to be discreet” (6). Buchanan continues to recount familial history of Boswell’s children and the circumstances that led to the public loss of Boswell’s papers, giving detailed accounts of persons associated with the family’s estate.
            The book contains nine chapters, six appendices, and tables containing genealogical information. Buchanan entitles his first chapter “The Legend of Destruction” and his final chapter “Fulfilment of Hopes.” The chapters in between chronicle the recovery of the Boswell papers, including legal battles and court decisions. The first chapter claims that the journals behind Boswell’s best-selling authorial career (Account of Corsica, Tour of Hebrides, and The Life of Samuel Johnson), contain “the most detailed and revealing self-portraits ever written; and at the same time they animate a cast of characters of outstanding interest and diversity against a background of the eighteenth-century scene in London, Scotland, the Continent of Europe, and elsewhere” (1). Buchanan also claims that Boswell reached his greatest genius through the compilation of his journals (2). The wealth of information included in the papers uncovered by Isham cover family papers concerned with business, legal, and miscellaneous matters. Buchanan claims that the papers offer an “almost limitless scope for productive research” (4).
            Buchanan continues with the account of the sixth Lord Talbot de Malahide and his Lady. He claims that Lady Talbot “was a spirited young woman of great charm and intelligence, and she quickly became interested in the family papers. She realized not only that these were of exceptional literary and historical interest, but also that they were likely to be worth a considerable sum of money” (46). Failed attempts to pass the papers on for publication include interactions Chauncey B. Tinker, A. Edward Newton, and others involved in literary publication of the day. Lord Talbot resisted the publication of the papers in any form and closely monitored those who would even be privileged to see the papers. Buchanan writes that the person who would “succeed at Malahide would need patience, perception, and skilled strategy” (54).  That person would prove to Ralph Heyward Isham.

            Isham would acquire a selection of the Boswell papers in 1927 for 13,585 pounds. However, this selection does not include the journals of Boswell, but still “the richness of the material was remarkable” (Buchanan 68–9). Obviously, the Talbots eventually released the journals to Isham for additional and significant sums of money, but only under the terms of Lady Talbot (the blotting out of questionable or defaming portions of the journals) (Buchanan 78–9). As a modern reader quickly recognizes, Isham and his publishers succeeded in removing and recovering the material under Lady Talbot’s blotting. Her censorship of Boswell’s life “presented Isham with one of his most difficult decision”—honoring her wishes or publishing the complete accounts recorded by Boswell (Buchanan 83). Isham’s obsession with Boswell and his papers led him to legal battles and large sums of money eventually contributing to a great debt. Once he secured what seemed the complete catalog of Boswell papers, he sold his collection to Yale for $300,000 (Eccles 148). In the end, Isham realizes his obsession, and the world receives the fullness of the Boswell papers.

Leslie
Histories and Texts: Refiguring the Diary of Samuel Pepys by Mark Dawson, Wolfson College, Cambridge University. The Historical Journal, Vol. 43, No. 2 (Jun., 2000), pp. 407-431.
Mark Dawson’s article is about Pepys’s purpose for writing the diary, not in itself a very original premise but he takes it in what is his own direction, away from the homocentric as he sees it, and instead towards the text-centric.
Dawson thinks that the search for Pepys’s motives in writing the diary is “very much a false quest,” us in the wrong direction and that the scholarship surrounding Pepys overwhelmingly focuses on him as a person or a particular aspect of his life such as his career, domestic situation, or “membership” in Restoration London’s genteel set. Explaining the diarist is not the same as explaining the diary, the text. “We have failed to explain the diary’s uniqueness because we continue to interrogate the diarist, and not his text,” Dawson declares.
Reasons scholars give for Pepys writing the diary:
Dawson sets down and takes apart the reasons various scholar put forth as to why Pepys wrote the diary.
• Pepys used the diary as a means of greater self control (Percival Hunt and R.A. Fotheringill).  Dawson says self-control is a strand running through the diary but not the whole maze.
• Lawrence Stone sees it as a means of confession of sin and of checking upon his moral balance sheet, influenced under the Puritan direction, a moral bookkeeping.
But Dawson notes that the text of Pepys “is manifestly not the product of someone who conceives of God looking over his very shoulder as he writes.” Pepys's diary does not contain a constant stream of God's mercies nor does it list God’s punishments or present itself as a searching of the soul for signs of being among the chosen or among the damned.
Other possible motives include:
• 'The preservation of erotic thrills otherwise doomed to the uncertain power of memory.'  Dawson quotes William Matthews that “'much of it reads like material for a scientific report on sexual behavior in the human male.”
• The bureaucrat's need to reduce daily chaos to scripted neatness.
• The desire to carve out a personal, private space where Pepys could be himself with himself. Dawson discounts this, noting there was very little privacy in Pepys’s world. He lived in a multi-person household in a space that kept the people in it in close proximity and almost certainly the servants knew everything or almost everything that went on with Pepys and his wife, Elizabeth, citing specifically the incident in which Pepys gave his wife a black eye.
Claire Tomalin says In the London of the 1660s, there was therefore a great deal for Pepys to write about and, according to one scholar, this was doubtless one of the reasons for beginning his diary. Dawson dismisses this premise, starting from the point that Pepys never really acted on his idea of continuing the diary text with the help of a literary assistant after 1669. This lack of follow-through adds further weight to the contention that the primary function of the diary for Pepys was not deliberately to record important, wider historical events for future readers.  Dawson further backs this up by saying in the years after I669, Pepys was just as much a part of important historical events as he had been in the I660s, perhaps even more so given that his continued importance as a civil servant brought him closer to those in power.
• Stuart Sherman who wrote “Telling Time: Clocks, Diaries, and English Diurnal Form.” argues that the diary's fundamental momentum derives from time itself. Sherman uses the pocket-watch and pendulum technology, a new invention or technology in Pepys’s time as the basis for this premise. But Dawson says Pepys is not so much the timekeeper as the time master, with Pepys distorting time by recording an observation and then going back and forth in time based on what he saw and what he felt. While Sherman sees the diary as he sees Pepys’s watch, a possession discreetly pocketed and secretly preserved, Dawson counters that this isn’t so because of the “ceaseless interplay of public with private,” making the diary’s trajectory social, not temporal.
One of the big questions about Pepys’s intentions with the diary is did he plan to leave it for posterity? The main argument for posterity leaving is that Pepys explained events, people, phenomena that were well known to Pepys himself so obviously he wasn’t including that information for his own benefit. However, Dawson argues that if Pepys were writing for posterity, why did he never leave the name of his wife, Elizabeth, to a perceived posterity?  He notes that John Evelyn, another prominent diarist of that same era, intended to leave his for posterity by not only included family names, but also a section about his family background so those who read it later would know of Evelyn’s roots.
Dawson thinks we should explain the diary’s uniqueness by interrogating the text of the diary itself and not the diarist (Pepys). But don’t readers usually do that anyway is my argument? I mean, when you start to read a text, you are reading the text, not investigating the author beforehand. If interest leads you to, then after reading at least some of a text, you might start on a quest to find out about the author, perhaps starting with what else that author wrote. Of course, in the latter half of the 20th century and continuing, publishing companies are anxious for potential readers to know the author, with the biographical blurb, then leading on to book tours, talk shows, C-SPAN and whatever else can be thought of to expose the author leading to book sales. Of course, Dawson is talking about scholars studying Pepys so perhaps he is cautioning against a rush to first-time judgment when the scholar initially reads the diary and is introduced to Pepys that way.
Dawson also says no matter how complete a source the diary is believed to be, it is not a constant record of everything that Pepys saw, heard, or did because its constant refrain of “among other things” makes this selectivity obvious. However, does any reader think this diary or any other would be a constant record or complete source? By its nature wouldn’t a diary be only for what the writer wanted a reader to know? And because of that intent, diaries of all writers serve a variety of purposes, including those that are nefarious. Example: In the film “Gone Girl” the Rosamunde Pike character creates a diary solely to frame her husband for her faux murder.  Even in the 19th century, in “The Importance of Being Earnest,” Oscar Wilde has the character Lady Bracknell say, “I never travel without my diary. One should always have something sensational to read on the train,” having established that the Lady leads the opposite of the sensational life.
While Dawson’s perspective is that it is clear that the diary's main function was for Pepys's sole benefit, he says it cannot be assumed that what Pepys wrote is inherently honest and neutral. Isn’t that what we should assume of any diary or any writing? And who defines honesty? If it is Dawson, he needs to state what he sees as honest and complete and neutral.
So what is Dawson’s conclusion as to the purpose of the diary? The diary is essentially a narrative of social accounting by a middling man on the make. The scope of the diary's accounting was far wider than keeping track of money or providing an end-of-the-month balance sheet of Pepys's material condition, he says. The processes of monetary and social accounting went hand in hand.
“The diary is constantly noting social debts, credits, and assessing Pepys’ status.”
Notice is taken of naval affairs in the diary as they related to the fate of Pepys's superiors and patrons because their success related to his own. Dawson gives several examples to back up his premise. One was the writing about food: The diary most frequently records what food was served at Pepys's table for dinner when that food had an added social value which said something about his status; his household accounts highlighting unusual expenditure on such 'luxury' items.
In the process of writing the diary, Dawson believes that Pepys was watching not just himself but paying much closer attention to others watching him. He was taking the measure of their gaze; evaluating his social worth in relation to those around him and not just the people whom Pepys wanted to impress, but everybody. Thus the need to identify and evaluate explicitly even the people most well known to Pepys. Therefore, the diary is one facet of a prism which distorts rather than a mirror which faithfully reflects the reality of Pepys and his world.
For example, with, Dawson saw the many of the accounts of his sexual conquests clearly indicating that Pepys was primarily concerned with evaluating exactly who might know about this behavior rather than simply giving lurid descriptions of what he had done behind supposedly closed doors. Even with the death of his brother Tom while Pepys expressed s grief, the narrative is primarily concerned with the social ramifications of Pepys having a brother who died in a socially unacceptable way. He also takes the opportunity to describe his generosity to the professional mourners.
Pepys's social mobility is not simply one facet of the diary. It informs the whole text at the most fundamental level. The diary is a social ledger, but more than this it is the text in which Pepys creates what he is endeavoring to be, but is unsure whether he will actually become. Dawson says we tend to focus on the upstroke of middling man making up his accounts, rather than the downstroke of the accounts making the man in our text, noting that journals are constructed after the fact as an exercise of the imagination in which the life of the mind is less real than events that take place.  As Margaret Willy says, “Without enthusiasm for himself, the Diary would hardly have begun to take shape as it did.”
            Fortunately, Dawson concludes, the diary survives as an enigmatic monument to his achievement, as lived but also as incessantly scripted and re- scripted.

Julie:
Mark Bostridge’s Mrs Robinson’s Diary
            Mark Bostridge introduces his discussion of Kate Summerscale’s Mrs Robinson’s Disgrace with a scene from what might be imaged as the writing room of one of the most well-known figures of the 19th century.  The focus of the scene is a letter addressed to William Darwin Fox in which Darwin is expressing his anxieties about the health of his children, the discovery of a theory of natural selection by Alfred Russel Wallace, and most predominantly his concern for a friend, Dr. Edward Lane, the physician accused by way of a diary of entering into an adulterous affair with Mrs. Isabella Robinson.  In situating the diary within the frame of such an important figure from Victorian society, Bostridge raises the prominence of the case as much as Summerscale highlights the nonsensicality of the condition of women’s lives by setting it within a frame of shit, referred to by Summerscale as the ‘Great Stink.’ 
            It is clear from the article that Bostridge aligns himself with Summerscale in coming down on the side of Mrs. Robinson with such obvious biases towards Isabella’s intrusion of privacy with the language he chooses to describe the taking of the diary: It is “snatched by her husband while she was delirious during illness” (1).  Not surprisingly then, Bostridge picks up Summerscale’s apparent intent of highlighting the privileged status of all males involved in the Robinson versus Robinson and Lane case with the implied suggestion that had Mrs. Robinson not implicate a male figure in her diary, the diary as evidence might well have stood firm. 
            Bostridge is interested in how the details of this scandalous case has resurfaced and how its outline has been rehearsed.  He cites such figures as Ralph Colp, an authority on Darwin’s health, who in 1981 “published an article in the Journal of the History of Medicine, centering on Darwin’s preoccupation with the trial;” and Janice M. Allen, who in her 2011 The Female Body in Medicine and Literature, “performed what she described as ‘an act of essential recuperation’ by recovering details of the case and placing them in the context of the professionalization of medicine with the passing of the Medical Reform Act in 1858” (2). 
            Rightly, Bostridge praises the thoroughness of Summerscale’s detective work in not only bringing to light Isabella’s relationship with her husband and the historical significance of the trial, but the information she provides on the lives of the people involved in the case after the trial is over and out of the public limelight.  While Isabella did finally get her divorce, Bostridge does not comment on the fact that Summerscale leaves her readers with the disturbing sense that Isabella was not the winner in this case since she lost her children, yet I consider this point to be of particular significance.  That said, Bostridge perceptively notes Summerscale’s astute positioning of the case “at the intersection of various legal and social developments:” the professionalization of medicine and the changes to divorce law which made it easier for Victorian middle class people to get a divorce.  For me, this positioning emphasizes Summerscale’s apparent view that change was not only necessary, but imminent also.
            Summerscale gives us some good background information with regards to Victorian attitudes towards sex and Bostridge touches on some of this.  Most central to the text, as Bostridge implies, is the Obscene Publications Act, the force behind some of the Victorian publication’s refusal to publish parts of the diary.  For me Isabella’s diary is made even more scandalous in light of the fact that scenes from novels like Gustav Flaubert’s Emma Bovary, considered too scandalous for British publication, are aligned with scenes from Isabella’s diary.  Bostridge notes how the carriage scene in Eamma Bovary is “strangely paralleled by the account published in the press from Mrs Robinson’s diary of the ‘blessed hour’ she had spent in the carriage with Lane” (2).  Of course, Summerscale is doing more than just emphasizing the scandalousness of the case, she is also highlighting Isabella’s literary skills.
            Summerscale suggests that “By writing and reading her journal, Isabella hoped to understand her alienated, conflicting self from the outside in, to get inside her own head and under her own skin” (Summerscale 36).  Perhaps in response to this quote, Bostridge rightly points out, the first half of Isabella’s diary is concerned with Isabella trying to understand the world around her.  The 1850’s was a particularly turbulent time for England.  Scientific discoveries were already discrediting the existence of God and Summerscale’s discussion of Isabella’s relationship with George Combe makes the point clear that Isabella was struggling with such issues as “the loss of belief in God,” as Bostridge notes.  Bostridge notes other important debates Summerscale raises with her diary selections, most of which point to the treatment of Victorian women such as inequality in marriage with particular emphasis on the trope of the tyrannical husband.  Some of the issues raised by Isabella’s diary include the assumptions of the medical profession and how these effect the case against Isabella.  Her unusually large cerebellum, of course, is to blame for her excessive amativeness. 
            Victorian ideas about sex is a strong feature of Summerscale’s text.  The raw and sensual descriptions in her diary are enough to convince people of her guilt, and at the same time creative enough to convince people of Edward’s innocence.  Bostridge focuses on the dream material in much the same way as Summerscale notes others do in her text, connecting Isabella’s dream life with other gifted women’s descriptions of dream life; Florence Nighingale being one such example.  Bostridge claims that “Summerscale forces Florence Nightingale’s description of the Victorian woman’s dream life from “Cassandra” into her account of Isabella’s state of mind, without acknowledging that Nightingale’s dreams were primarily concerned with a wish for an active life, not an outlet for sexual release” (3).  Bostridge makes an interesting observation here, but perhaps Summerscale descision needs no explanation.  The point Summerscale is making in her text is that Isabella’s dream life had become increasingly difficult to distinguish from reality, a point Bostridge touches on earlier in his review.
            Bostridge concludes that “we will never know precisely the degree of imaginative reconstruction that Isabella Robinson employed in her descriptions of her relationship with Edward Lane” (3).  This, of course, is a limitation of autobiographical texts.  What is most interesting to Bostridge is that Summerscale “appears unwilling even to entertain the possibility” that there was “perhaps more incitement to romance, or at least romantic thoughts on [Lane’s] side than either the court or Isabella herself, anxious to protect him, ever allowed” (3).  Again, Bostridge makes an interesting point, but surely Summerscale’s neutrality in this regard is a sign of a good detective.  There is no doubt that the narrative technique Summerscale employs with her work offers her plenty of opportunity for biase, and in some cases, she seems to exercise her bias in favor of Isabella, but only when facts favor bias language.  In the case of Edward, as Bostridge points out, we can never know to what extent he was actually involved with Isabella due to the unstable nature of the diary as a history—Summerscale’s neutrality is in this regard, then, is just.
Works Cited
Bostridge, Mark.  Mrs Robinson’s Diary.  The Times Literary Supplement.  Web. 18 Mar. 2016.
Summerscale, Kate.  Mrs Robinson’s Disgrace: The Private Diary of a Victorian Lady.  London: Bloomsbury, 2012.  Print.