Archive for July, 2008

The bland of the free

July 23, 2008

Health food, in particular, seems especially prone to the recent trend of placing lists on food packaging declaring all the substances of which the contents are “free.” These litanies can run up to half a dozen items, and are often placed in colorful boxes or even starburst designs — all of which adds an air of celebration and relief to the product.

Of course, celebration and relief are emotions appropriate to freedom (a word now so loaded it can perhaps best be approached through its use on food packaging) as it pertains to a heavy yoke having been lifted, or a burden which one learns that one does not have to bear after all. The idea of freedom, though, is rather meaningless without the possibility of oppression and necessity, which leads me to wonder what the opposite of these alimentary appellations might be: would a product which is not dairy-free be dairy-laden? or something which is not soy-free be held soy-captive? or be soy-sullied?

The degree to which these antonyms are ridiculous is the same degree to which it’s ridiculous that food manufacturers seem to hope that their “gluten-free” products will be greeted with a certain joy, whereas a phrase like “no gluten” on a label might look sullen by comparison. This, though, is only the rational way of looking at it — the side of us that knows the two phrases are perfectly equivalent — while consumption is a thoroughly irrational undertaking, containing as it does elements of both identification and aspiration. What we must consider is the idea of health food consumers as a discrete group with characteristic ideas about themselves and the modern world.

With brand names like “Back to Nature” (which I can’t help but interpret as a command in want of an exclamation point) and “Eden Foods,” it’s clear that health food manufacturers (and therefore the consumers [I should point out now that this includes me]) seek to distinguish themselves by their purity — the converse of this distinction being, of course, that mainstream manufacturers are estranged from nature and despoilers of what is otherwise Edenic. Collectively held ideas about what foods are polluting emerge, which means that we should refer to the anthropologist Mary Douglas; explaining her idea of food taboos as symbolic ways of maintaining the integrity of the body politic by closely guarding each body’s orifices, she writes, “I suggest that food is not likely to be polluting at all unless the external boundaries of the social system are under pressure.” This she writes specifically about the Brahmin caste and about Jews, both of whom are minorities the lapse of whose vigilance could quickly bring about their end as a distinct group.

This, to me, explains in large part why health food consumers seem to respond well to the notion of their food being “free” of various (and occasionally dubious) taints; rather than being a demographic, a certain sense of aspiring to be a fully functioning “social system” has developed among likely consumers of health foods — one that I think I can safely label environmentalist. The “freedom” from certain ingredients, then, becomes a way of creating in one’s body the idea of freedom from a mass culture where finding virtually anything without high-fructose corn syrup is a chore.

Later in her book Purity and Danger, Douglas writes that if a metaphysical system has no way of tilling the evil and tragic facts of life back into its system, it not only stultifies itself by creating a too-static environment, but risks asking its members to go through life with a forced smile and eyes closed to the easy falsifiability of its ideas and rites. This is what concerns me — that environmentalists want their freedom too free, and will continue to move the bar of purity from organic to biodynamic to local, from gluten-free to GMO-free to soy-free. These are the marks of coolness straight out of any high school, not the marks of sustainability.

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The Bookseller’s Pique

July 12, 2008

It’s no secret that publishers often ask authors to change the names of their books in order to fit what their market thinks of as an appropriate title for a book. But those expectations of appropriateness can create some rather humorous bottlenecking as publishers flock to a certain onomastic scheme and then, once they’ve surfeited the public on that trope, abandon it. I’d like to point out the two naming schemes that seem most prevalent today as formulas for the naming of books.

The first is one that I’ll call The Occupation’s Female Relation, and its members fit into the formula suggested by my own meta-title perfectly. We can only speculate on why no nieces or grandmothers seem to be named, but here follows a few examples of this genre:

  • The Zookeeper’s Wife
  • The Time Traveler’s Wife
  • The Tale of the Allergist’s Wife
  • The Astronaut’s Wife (There seem to be no fewer than three separate books and a film bearing this title.)
  • The Bonesetter’s Daughter
  • The Abortionist’s Daughter
  • The Gravedigger’s Daughter

A second trend is one I’ll name The Eccentric Conflagration; its titles are a little tougher to pin down, and my Google skills failed me somewhat when I was searching for examples. Nonetheless, all of them concern a grouping whose purpose (or at least name) is somehow, as the following show, triangulated between nonsensical, paradoxical, and quirky —

  • The Tea-Olive Bird-Watching Society
  • The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society
  • The Master Butchers Singing Club
  • The Buenos Aires Broken Heart Club

— all of which exude an almost pained specificity that, even if it doesn’t explicitly include hyphens, begs silently for them to be added in the mind of the reader. (I would add that, in the case of the second title on that list, hyphens would save it from being parsed as concerning a society that bakes or eats both literary and potato peel pies, rather than one that concerns itself with “literary [things]” and “potato peel pie[s].”)

If it seems obvious that there would be trends in the naming of books, it’s somewhat less obvious why — for surely not all of these were altered by the publishers, but were voluntarily named by their authors. If it is a case as simple as the now chronic appendage of the lowercase “i” to the beginning of tech products — a case of hoped-for high sales simply by association with a single best seller — it’s an explanation that is simple in itself, but somewhat more complex and not at all heartening in the explanations for which our specific examples seem to beg. For in the first, we seem to be reverting to a way of referring to women by their relations to (almost certainly) male characters; and I would point out, too, that this is a reversion to, really, pre-novelistic schemes of reference, since novels featuring female characters were previously named, primarily, by eponymous means (Jane Eyre, Pamela), and secondarily, either by a place name (Bleak House, Wuthering Heights) or more abstractly (Sense & Sensibility, The Wings of the Dove) — never by that character’s relation to a male.

And in the case of the books which fall under my meta-title of The Eccentric Conflagration, I can only suggest that the frantic specificity of their titles lies in stark contrast to the realities of a nation in which people cannot seem to gather for anything other than the most officially sanctioned, banally celebratory functions. If their titles are any indication, it seems that these books contain a myth of a non-internet world so packed with clubs and societies that there is room for niches and sub-niches. But isn’t the whole idea of a common naming scheme for popular literature mythological in nature? Doesn’t it appeal to a sort of folk consciousness of some unarticulated desire?