Was Watson a woman?

The question is ill-formed, since Watson never existed outside of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s pages, which clearly indicate that he was a man. And yet… and yet… this tongue-in-cheek analysis of Watson’s gender is so delightfully entertaining that who cares whether the question makes sense? Read on. Read the case to support the claim that Watson was a woman.

P.S. I learned from this talk that there are a total of 60 Sherlock stories. What! I must have missed some of them. Time to go a-hunting.

Discovering the Lusitania in Monrovia

How must it have felt to open up your newspaper and find this headline:

That’s just what must have happened on Friday, May 7, 1915. I came across this newspaper today while working my way through old newspapers on microfilm at the library. This article has more the feel of rumor than news; the sinking had probably happened only hours before they went to print, and as they note, casualty reports are conflicting, “one dispatch saying that many were drowned, another that all were saved.” In reality, 1,198 of the almost 1,959 people onboard were lost.

It is one thing to read about historical events and analyze them though the misty depths of decades (or even a near-century). Lusitania’s demise, which counted 123 Americans amongst its dead, was a pivotal event that helped drag the U.S. into World War I. But it is strange how much more present, and visceral, the event seems in this snapshot, the then-dim understanding frozen in time.

I hadn’t realized that there were several warnings issued before the Lusitania’s departure, via telegrams to individuals and advertisements to the public in New York newspapers. 1,265 passengers disregarded or were ignorant of these warnings. The ship took “precautions,” but they did not avail against the German U-boat that dealt the fatal blow.

Also, this ship was freakin’ ginormous, and could almost be forgiven for feeling rather invulnerable given its superior speed (25 knots), despite the Titanic’s demise three years earlier.

Adding to the sense of surreal historical creepiness, the Monrovia Daily News article is immediately followed by this notice: “Tennis: The Monrovia high school tennis team will meet the covina team on the high school court tomorrow morning at 9 o’clock.” Other neighboring headlines are similarly mundane and local. Despite the event’s top billing on page one, I wonder how long it took for its significance to sink in. As I work my way through later papers in May 1915, I may find out.

The Politics of Dracula

Quincey MorrisDid you know that there’s an American in “Dracula”? This was the book assigned for week 3 of Fantasy and Science Fiction: The Human Mind, Our Modern World, a course I’m taking online. The story is set entirely in Europe and England, but Bram Stoker managed to get in a jibe or two at America nonetheless.

Our homework in this class is to write a short essay (REALLY short: 270 to 300 words) that “aims to enrich the reading of a fellow student who is both intelligent and attentive to the readings and to the course.” This instruction seems aimed at discouraging us from all writing the same essay on the same obvious major themes. Instead, we are to identify some interesting but potentially overlooked aspect of the work and analyze it for the benefit of our classmates—who are the ones doing the grading.

Here is my contribution (warning: spoilers!):

American Aggression Controlled

Quincey Morris stands out as the only American character in the story of Dracula, an otherwise European tale. He is the character we know least well. His name, “Quincey”, means “fifth”, as if filling out the complement of five men might be his main function in the story. He is the author of only one letter in the story, a message suggesting drinks with Arthur Holmwood and John Seward after their proposals to Lucy are rejected and Arthur’s is accepted. He is courageous, sturdy, and good with a Winchester.

However, as the only American, he also stands for America. On meeting him, asylum patient Renfield compliments him on the U.S.’s annexation of Texas, a move that Britain as a nation opposed. Renfield then speculates about further U.S. expansion, to a dramatic future in which “the Pole and the Tropics may hold allegiance to the Stars and the Stripes.” Though couched as approval, the statement issues from a madman. It is likely that this expresses a British fear, and criticism, of such American actions.

Stoker then systematically puts American aggression in its place. Renfield, who approved of those actions, is brutally destroyed. During the ensuing Dracula chase, Quincey the American is the only one of the five men to be injured, and ultimately, he dies as well. His death seems unnecessary and arbitrary from the plot perspective, but it could serve as a not-so-subtle statement about British superiority to America. Quincey is remembered for his dedication and selflessness (an instructional lesson for America?) and memorialized in Jonathan and Mina’s son. Jonathan reports “the secret belief that some of our brave friend’s spirit has passed into [his son].” Perhaps England can benefit from emulating America’s good qualities, once her troubling aggression is under control.

The note about “only one letter” is meaningful because the story is told in epistolary format, so the only way we learn of the characters’ activities is through their diaries, telegrams, newspaper articles, and letters. Quincey remains something of a cipher.

The full quote from the momentarily, and curiously, sane-sounding Renfield is, “Mr. Morris, you should be proud of your great state. Its reception into the Union was a precedent which may have far-reaching effects hereafter, when the Pole and the Tropics may hold allegiance to the Stars and the Stripes. The power of Treaty may yet prove a vast engine of enlargement, when the Monroe doctrine takes its true place as a political fable.” This comment seems to come entirely out of left field, and no one responds or follows up on it. It’s irrelevant to the story, so why did Stoker include it? I posit above that he wanted to make a subtle political statement and made Quincey his device. I cannot read his dead mind, but now I wish there were some way to ask him about it!

Why one enlisted in 1917

One of my duties at the Monrovia Library is to take old newspapers on microfilm and scan them into electronic files. We anticipate this making them much easier for patrons to use, and it will mean less wear on the microfilm itself.

I’ve been working on scanning the Monrovia Weekly News from 1915-1917 lately, and sometimes my attention is caught by unusual ads or articles. This item, from May 26, 1917, definitely stood out.

For context, what was happening in 1917? That’s right, World War I (at the time, the Great War). The U.S. had declared war on Germany just seven weeks earlier, on April 6, 1917. Before it was over, we’d lose 116,000 U.S. lives.

And the straight-shouldered grandfather? He’d have possibly fought in the Civil War, 56 years earlier. A bit more complicated, that, to consider it an answer to the call of the Flag (presumably the North and nationalism, vs. the South and federalism).

Regardless, a sobering take on conscription and enlistment. Does our Flag have the same call today?

Cyrano wrote sci-fi?

It wasn’t all about the big nose and fighting duels. Cyrano de Bergerac also ventured into the realm of science fiction, although his two novels weren’t published until after his death. (He died young, at age 36!) The books are “L’Autre Monde: ou les √Čtats et Empires de la Lune (The Other World: The States and Empires of the Moon)” and “Les √Čtats et Empires du Soleil (The States and Empires of the Sun)”. I haven’t been able to read the books myself, but from reading about them online I gather that Cyrano was less concerned with scientific realism and more interested in using the fantastic realm as a platform for social commentary (and criticism). As such, his work is very much in line with a major current running through later science fiction; the displacement of people and personalities into a new environment uniquely enables us to gain perspective on our own strengths and weaknesses.

Would his prose hold up today? Would it be amusingly or irritatingly naive in terms of science? Would Jules Verne have approved (200 years later)? I may never know! I dug up a copy of the original text online, but it is not only in French, it’s in ancient 17th-century French, and it would take me approximately a century to muddle through it. Someday, in my copious spare time…

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