Today's Report comes as a result of a story run yesterday by The Daily Beast: F. Scott Fitzgerald's Baltimore home is for sale.
The 113 year old home sounds quite nice, but as the newsblurb says,
it's not exactly the West Egg mansion of Jay Gatsby. Even still, the
Beast links to a list of Nine Illustrious Houses in Fiction,
which includes Gatsby's mansion. Interestingly, Gatsby's Mansion,
incorrectly referred to as "West Egg" on the list, is the only one of
the nine houses that doesn't have a formal name. Pemberely, Brideshead,
Tara... All these illustrious residences come with similarly
illustrious names. So what's going on there? When did we stop naming
our houses?
The Internet suggests that doing so is a distinctly British custom,
as a quick search for the practice of doing so provides information on
official methods of naming and this entertaining history of/guide for naming.
Where are the names of American homes? Where are our Skyfalls and
Manderlays? Let's bring this practice back! The question becomes, how
do we pick the name? Some sort of factor of the environment? Mine
could be Creaking Tree. A combination of the names of its residents?
I'll check and see what my housemates think of Marshmolie. (Rhymes with
Molly, not guacamole.) Can we just name it Winterfell?
But: Let's circle back to literature for a moment. Is it a function
of the Britishness of naming houses that so many of literature's famous
houses are British? Consider the list above: Six of the nine listings
are from British literature. Is it just because named houses are
easier to reference? Or is there a dearth of houses in American
literature? When I think about what houses were missing from the list,
my mind goes straight from house to Holmes, and wonders about 221B Baker Street. Then to Bag End. Then, even though I haven't read it, on to Bleak House.
When I try to think of houses in American literature, I have much
less success. The first image my mind produces is the completely
uninhabitable floating house the Huck and Jim find upon in the river. When I finally arrive at an actual house, I think of Mark Z Danielewski's House of Leaves,
but here the home is shifting and changing and impossible, bigger on
the inside than it is on the outside. The residences that I think of in
American literature are of a more temporary nature: The Overlook Hotel,
the mental institution of Nurse Ratched, the Ennet House Drug and
Alcohol Recovery House (sic)... Is it something about the nature of
mobility and change that characterize American literature? Is it
because we name institutions and not houses? Or is it because I'm just
failing to think of any good examples, when really there are a whole
bunch out there?
Readers, never before have I been so curious about what you have to
say. What would you name your house? What should I name my house? And
where are the houses of American literature?
I promise something less academic and rambling tomorrow, but til then I'm thinking about my house (in the middle of my street).
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
Monday, February 4, 2013
First Downs and First Dogs
I hope you all had pleasant weekends and were able to gather with
friends and food for the Puppy Bowl and the Beyonce Concert with special
guest, Football. I'll admit to only really knowing the team preference
of one of our readers in this game, but his dedication to his team had
me rooting for them from home... So I was sad to see the 49ers fall
under the Unkindness of Ravens. (Seriously, that is what a group of
ravens is called. Look it up.)
The game certainly wasn't without its twists and turns. Viewers at my
home argued that the blackout came as a result of Jim Harbaugh
resorting to the strategy he has when he's losing against his brother in
Madden: Pull the plug. But for the sake of that one reader, I won't
dwell on the football game here.
Instead, let's turn to the Puppy Bowl. Remember how I had my money on Eli?
Well, scoring one touch down, Eli was one of the final contenders
considered for the title of MVP(uppy). He ultimately lost out to the
love mi hermano, Marta. While Marta's bold play in the face of puppies
twice her size (has anyone tested for steroids) certainly helped seal
her victory, it couldn't have helped Eli's case that in the entire two
hour broadcast he was the only puppy to poop on the field... I sure know
how to pick 'em.
In other dog news, we turn today to the sad passing of Barney Bush, First Dog
during the presidency of George W. Bush. Barney, a Scottish Terrier,
passed away last Friday at age 12. While sad, this news also opens the
question of why a Scottish dog held such a prominent American office.
And this trend has only continued into the Obama administration, with
the title passing to Bo, a Portuguese Water Dog. Perhaps it was part of
an effort to assure Americans of his loyalties that Bo Obama received visiting Dognitaries from Furuguay
at the end of January. Glad to see the First Dog keeping a close eye
on the Tailiban presence in Arfghanistan. Fighting terrierism is
important to all nations, and certainly earns Bo the honor of Good Boy!
Live your life "as a model for others." It's the 100th anniversary of Rosa Parks' birth.
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