Category: Private (Page 2 of 11)

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By Alec

After spending many hours collecting the 169 American love letters that comprise the corpus of my final project, I now get to spend many hours analyzing them. The first, and probably most tedious step of this process was to codify each letter and compile the relevant information into a big spreadsheet. This meant going into each and every document and quickly scanning the text for things like date written, author, recipient, and location. Upon spotting a relevant bit of information, I “tagged” it by surrounding it with the corresponding code – for example: {author}Henry Knox{/author}.

This is, as you might guess (or even know first hand, if your project involves the same process), a pretty mindless activity. Which means that I had plenty of time to really think about what I was doing. And what I wished I was doing, i.e., anything but individually tagging 169 love letters.

Jokes aside, it occurred to me that rapidly skimming texts to extract small bits of data is very different from actually reading them start to finish in both ends and means. Whereas the goal of performing a close reading of a text is to acquire a comprehensive of the document, its author, and its arguments, “marking up” or tagging a text effectively forfeits this intention, often with the hope that a computer program or algorithm can handle it for us. In an ideal world, there would be time for both micro- and macro-levels of analysis, and I imagine that many historians do indeed have this opportunity. With a rapidly approaching due date, however, I don’t exactly have this luxury. For every letter that I have read word-for-word in my collection, there are probably ten that I’ve only just glanced at, and I likely won’t become any more intimate with these.

As Kurt noted in his post last week, digitization and visualization services like Neatline do allow us to see the ‘big picture’ and to tease out trends from large collections of sources. In this sense, performing digital history can encourage a deeper reading of historical texts in the sense that we can back up conclusions about sources with percentages and graphs, not just subjective analysis. Yet it’s also a much shallower reading – and perhaps not a reading at all, at least on our part, considering how much is handed off to the computer.

One conclusion about this sort of ‘reading’ is one I think we’ve discussed in class before – that mechanically analyzing a text carries the danger of distancing it too much from its author and origins. However, in giving up close reading to computers, we also run the risk of losing sight of our own roles as voyeurs of history. Anyway, back to tagging.

      

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By admin

Earlier this month, Aidan wrote about the historical inaccuracy of “Django Unchained,” citing that Quentin Tarentino overstated violence and freed blacks’ autonomy in antebellum America. Aidan makes a compelling argument, but we cannot apply his conclusion of factual exaggeration to the film as a whole. Upon discovery of the story of Isaac Franklin, I now believe that Tarentino downplayed the horrific nature of the large-scale slave trade. The violence can be explained by his desire to provide shocking material, comic relief or spectacular visuals; the freedmen’s autonomy advances the narrative. He likely failed to see the value, however, in accurately portraying the sheer volume of slaves moved by the larger traders and the ease with which these men discussed rape and death of slaves.

Calvin Candie, played by Leonardo DiCaprio, is characterized as a vicious slave owner, heading the most feared plantation in the South, Candieland. Tarentino shows the audience Candie’s lack of compassion for his slaves in our introduction to him. In this scene, we see Candie in a smoke filled room excitedly watching a brutal mandingo fight, flinching only upon the delivery of the death blow. In comparison to Isaac Franklin, though, Candie is tame. Candie at least flinches. He feels something, though not much, for the brutality of the scene he has witnessed. Franklin, however, makes Candie look tame.

Franklin, a Nashville native, was born into a prominent family in 1789. His four older brothers came to start a business shipping goods down the Mississippi river to New Orleans, bringing the money back through the Natchez Trace. When Isaac came of age, his brothers hired him to travel with the shipment through the uncivilized route; he traveled through dense woodlands and Indian Territory all with easy access to New Orleans, all tremendously fertile land. He knew that if White men had the ability to change these forests into workable plantations, they could stand to make a lot of money. This land, however, required hundreds of men to clear and work, and labor to that extent was unavailable. Franklin set out to fix that.

Franklin partnered with his nephew, John Armfield, and set up a slave-trading operation in Alexandria, Virginia. By 1833, the two were buying at least 1,000 people a year out of the Mid-Atlantic and selling them in New Orleans and Natchez, Mississippi. Typically, Franklin and Armfield sent a regular shipment by boat regardless of whether or not it was full. Once a year, though, Franklin would make the 8-week overland trip with a coffle of 200 slaves shackled together. This dwarfs the depiction of Candie’s coffle shown in the movie. Franklin, moreover, shows his disregard for the lives and emotions of his slaves in a letter to a business associate in which he casually references slaves impending deaths, saying ‘if they do not die before that time.’ What’s more, he brags and pokes fun to his correspondent about rape. He describes young, light-skinned slave women as ‘maids’ and ‘fancy girls’, and he casually chastises his correspondent using the possessive ‘your’ before the description of each slave woman. He then goes on to joke about his disappointment ‘your Charlottesville maid’ was not present in his most recent shipment, hoping that he would have gotten his turn. The casual nature of this correspondence sheds light on the complete dismissal of empathy for black slaves.

The link to the full text about Isaac Franklin is copied below:

http://narrative.ly/unraveling-nashville/forgotten-supervillain-antebellum-tennessee/

The Tarentino comparison was really just to connect it to a past assignment.. interesting read even if my argument wasn’t all that persuasive

      

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By admin

A little while ago I attended the history major presentations in hance and was pleasantly surprised to be confronted with some presentations on less conventional topics (and more importantly, topics I have never been exposed to). I was reminded of the first presentation (one about the contextual accuracy of ‘spy fiction’, especially that surrounding the cold war) by admin’s post talking about historical accuracy in the film, The Retrieval. And I got to thinking mostly about how historical accuracy improves or degrades a piece of “fiction”‘s impact or quality.

The presenter said one line in response to Avery’s question that really stuck with me; when asked about whether or not she thought there was a market for factual truth in spy fiction, the presenter responded by saying, “the best spy story is a true spy story”. I wasn’t sure what to think of this, however. I was brought up on Bond films, on the books of Anthony Horowitz, and I even remember (albeit shamefully) the storyline of Spy Kids: 3D. No matter how much I wanted her to be right (so that I could feel like a suitably sophisticated fellow who appreciates historical accuracy in all scenarios rather than the brash showmanship of hollywood), I couldn’t imagine any of these works of fiction being improved by substituting a daring escape on skis down a mountainside chased by goons on snowmobiles with a careful piece of filing, or swapping out a chase between a missile-loaded Aston Martin and an equally tricked-out Mercedes-Benz with a long, in depth meeting about the likeliness of a nuclear strike devoid of dramatic, non-diegetic, horn stings.

But then it hit me that I was probably misinterpreting her statement. I spent so long mulling this one sentence over in my head that I failed to listen to her talking about the importance of accuracy in the context of narrative. In other words, the importance of setting the story in a realistic, period correct environment. The presenter went on to talk about authors setting certain rooms in a very distinct way, going so far as to research exact dimensions and placement of chairs. With this in mind it seems more sensible. I could definitely see myself appreciating the notion that all of this high-octane action was occurring during a period of real history, imagining that the only thing stopping the real Cold War from boiling over (odd juxtaposition of phrases I know) was one suave, philandering individual and their tranquilizer-firing fountain pen.

      

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By Alec

There’s certainly a lot to be discussed regarding the priorities, arguments, and omissions of the AHA’s “Guidelines for the Professional Evaluation of Scholarship in History”, but I want to offer up thoughts on just one quote that caught my attention. Most of the items on the list of issues to consider when evaluating digital work were pretty tame and difficult to object, but this one did strike me as a little odd:

“Digital scholarship should be evaluated in its native digital medium, not printed out for inclusion in review materials. Evaluators need to understand how a project works, what capacities it possesses, and how well those capacities perform. This can only be done by actually using the interface.” (5)

I can definitely see where they’re coming from, since many digital projects would definitely lose most if not all of their essence and argument if you just clicked “Ctrl-P” and picked up a copy of the webpage from the printer. On the other hand, not all digital scholarship is interactive, and therefore not all digital scholarship demands analysis in its “native medium.” A static infographic or graph or social network would likely translate well to paper, and I can even imagine some instances when it might even be useful or advantageous to do so – a particularly detailed visualization, for example, might benefit from being “blown up” into a large physical poster than can be annotated and marked-up. Furthermore, it’s often the case that only parts of a digital project demand a digital viewing. Introductions, analyses, or other written/typed components read just as well, I think, on paper.

The AHA’s request that digital scholarship be viewed in its native form points to, but does not directly address the larger issue of determining and defining “native medium” online. The digital world, which is all about recreation and remediation, almost intrinsically defies the idea of a native medium. Obviously the break between print and digital work is a significant and dramatic one, but within the digital realm there are still infinitely many ways to consume and interpret media. A site viewed on a smartphone will function differently from the same site as seen on a projector screen. An old, CRT monitor will depict images differently from a 4K flat-screen. Even software differences, however minor, can generate huge discrepancies in functionality and presentation. Should a site be viewed in FireFox or Chrome, on a Mac or a Windows PC, with an ad blocker or without one? Does a project rehosted or reposted on a different site carry the same import as its original location on the author’s blog? With sound effects turned on or off?

The other, happier side of this issue is also the best counterargument: that at the end of the day, for most sites and projects it probably doesn’t matter that much where and how you access it. Admin’s point about the flexibility of many video games to adapt to the skill of the player can be read more broadly, I think, as indication of the digital world’s ability to adapt to a multitude of interfaces, softwares, machines, and users. Native medium matters, but maybe only to the extent that it affects or hinders functionality or usability. The AHA may have more issues analyzing a website in a browser without the latest version of Flash than in printing out a hard copy.

Works Cited

American Historical Association, Ad Hoc Committee on Professional Evaluation of Digital Scholarship by Historians. “Guidelines for the Professional Evaluation of Scholarship in History.” Historians.org. n.p., Apr. 2015. Web. 30 Apr. 2015.

      

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By admin

Last night I watched the film The Retrieval, primarily because the director, Chris Eska, won an Independent Spirit Award a Film Independent “Someone to Watch” nomination. I didn’t want to miss the chance to see fresh, pioneering film, since I’m so regularly let down by big-budget Hollywood productions. I was pleasantly surprised to discover many connections between the film and our studies of Antebellum American history and communication.

Compared to the historically inaccurate, flashy, and pithy pilot episode of “Sleepy Hollow” that I watched and reviewed in my earlier blog post, The Retrieval strives for historical accuracy. The plot features an adolescent, free African American boy named Will, who is paid a bounty to retrieve an adult slave named Nate who has left his plantation; along the way they form a close bond.

The story takes place during the Civil War, and during the movie we encounter death in various situations. Will encounters a field littered with dead soldiers, and later, his campsite becomes a battleground overnight. Also, Nate kills at least three people in hand-to-hand combat.

Due to the relatively tiny budget of the film (only $40,000!), the various representations of death struck me as far more realistic than the dramatized, stylized deaths in movies such as The Avengers or even historical films such as Glory. In The Retrieval, the deaths are unaccompanied by any provocative music or flashy special effects. Instead, each death is sudden and visceral, and very raw, and we see every moment of the act.

I connected this to Cordelia’s blog post about the way death is communicated in our contemporary media. She argues that future generations will look back at today’s film and “laugh at the implausibility and unrealistic aspects of it,” referring specifically to the use of dramatic music and scene splicing. She compares this to our ability to see the flaws and lack of realism in Civil War-era photographs. I would argue that The Retrieval‘s portrayal of death is far more honest than photographs of death from the 1860’s, and goes farther than most of today’s films in communicating death without glorification or censorship.

Image source: http://www.hollywoodreporter.com/sites/default/files/2013/03/retrieval.jpg

      

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By Kurt Vidmer

As I walked into my Data Culture class with Dr. Sample, I knew that we were having a guest speaker for this given class period. When the guest speaker walked in, the first thing I noticed was his incredible resemblance to a member of the class. However, what I did not know about this particular speaker was that he was one of the founding programmers for both Neatline and Omeka.

As it appeared in the class, I was one of very few students who had any previous exposure to either of these programs. We have previously done class work with these programs, so any of us would have found this very intriguing. However, this resonated particularly with me because my final project is taking form in Neatline, a function of Omeka.

My project is dealing with early American trading posts and routes. It analyzes the various products, people, and tendencies about these posts and routes, which necessitates a way to present this information in a descriptive form. Neatline provides me with a perfect way to present this, as it allows me to plot points on a map, and add descriptive texts to analyze and assess the specific characteristics about these posts.

After listening to the presentation from the guest speaker, it became apparent to me that he programmed and created this resource for projects exactly like mine. To provide a resource where geographic locations can be paired with normative and descriptive content truly is the goal that Neatline aims to provide to its users. As described in admins post, programming is a specific art with a clear purpose. To be able to hear first hand from the programmer who is largely responsible for creating the program that will display my final project was a very eye opening and surreal experience.

      

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By admin

I was definitely fascinated by Ms Stivison’s talk on gaming, gender, and education yesterday, even if I am yet to be sold completely. What interested me in particular was her approach of using video game programming as a medium through which to achieve education in other areas.

I remember, as I walked to the library, wishing that I had been taught how to code (or at least have been told how much potential there was in the field) at a young age. Website design, video game programming, and algorithm manufacturing are such potent skills to have in the job market today that I would be lying if I said I wasn’t jealous of those who are competent in them. Working with Sherwood in troubleshooting final project ideas really helped me see some of the unlimited applications of coding skills (along with allowing me to bother him with rudimentary questions in an attempt to get myself started) and through seeing what he is capable of doing with those skills I was inspired to attend the talk and to get myself on track to start messing around with coding after I graduate. This is where Ms Stivison was so interesting to me; as a music major at a liberal arts college, I was fascinated as to how she got her start and as to how she found her way into teaching programming (and much more).

But I digress, what subverted my preconceived notions of her programming class is how she had her class program games in such a way as to help them learn mathematics (and help others with it too) rather than just simply learn programming skills. This was important for her ethos of making learning more like a video game in order to achieve some of the benefits that games have over classrooms. Firstly, she outlined, games benefit from the fact that the players (and creators too) have already decided that they want to play/create it before they begin, bypassing the problem that many classes have of forcing students to perform assignments they wouldn’t otherwise perform. Secondly, they allow the player/creator, to learn through experimentation as opposed to being given something to memorize. Finally, it allows different difficulty settings to be applied to people at different levels without the need to structure people into different classes based on ability. I think using the process of game development as a means of education rather than simply the subject matter is a fascinating one indeed, but when approached like this I think it does still possess some issues.

My main problem with this model is the issue of trial and error in learning. I admit that when a student finds the answer on their own, they are undoubtedly more likely to remember it than if they had been bold-fadedly told it, but I spent so many hours in front of Tim Schaffer’s Grim Fandango when I was young trying to figure out the preposterous uses of seemingly benign items in such a warped manner that only makes sense to the developer alone that I am hesitant to believe that this process would take a short enough time to make the education process efficient. I asked this question though and while Ms. Stivison admitted that she has not found a perfect answer for the issue just yet, she sung the praises of having a teacher present to act as a ‘hint system’ to prod the student in the right direction through the asking of leading questions. I think this is probably the right way to tackle the issue, but I wonder how many hints it would take to completely remove the concept of free agency and discovery on the part of the player. And as well as this I could see some students becoming less enthused and relying on the teacher to lead them to the answer every time. And if this proves to be the case, have we not reentered the classroom and lost the benefits of the “magic circle” inherent with the gaming environment?

Regardless, I think this bold new form of teaching is a creative step towards a new age of education, one that I think needed to be taken. And even if it never fully works, the education system could benefit from being more like the gaming industry and this venture could at least serve to “flood the indie market with ideas so that we can see what works and what does not”.

      

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By Dr. Shrout

The posts this week engage with the question both of how the Civil War changed cultures of death, and how the experience (or, as Carolyn writes, the process) of death was changed by the ability of news and information to traverse space ever more quickly. The flip-side is that people expected to hear news more quickly (or at all). A really lovely articulation of this came in a story that Cordelia referenced:

The anecdote about the soldier who punished himself severely after not communicating to a dead soldier’s family of his death to be quite interesting as it was considered to him to be an absolutely heinous offense. In regards to information transfer, it was not the death that he felt bad about, but his lack of communication that gave him grief.

The idea of grief also comes into play here. Historians of emotion have spilled a lot of ink on the question of whether people in the past experienced emotions the way we do and simply called them different things, or whether they experienced things qualitatively differently. Alec begins to grapple with these questions in his post, and will, I think, explore them more in his final project.

      

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By admin

While reading “The Civil War Soldier and the Art of Dying” by Drew Gilpin Faust, I was surprised at how much I didn’t know about the revolutionary social change wrought by the number of people killed in the Civil War. First of all, I had primarily thought of death in the Civil War the way Faust says military historians consider it–as “an index to an army’s continuing strength and effectiveness.” I hadn’t previously been exposed to the study of death during the Civil War in its social context. Second, I had never before heard of the Good Death system of belief, with all of its intricacies and ceremony. I was vaguely aware of the tradition, because this article called to mind the satirical funeral scene in Mark Twain’s Huckleberry Finn, which involved an extended wake period and a large gathering. Also noteworthy was what Cordelia references in her blog post, that communication of the process of one’s death almost overshadowed the news itself that a loved one had died.

Something else I noted in this article was the importance of a dying person’s last words. It’s a trope in countless forms of literature and entertainment for last words to hold a secret–and because the person no longer has any reason to lie, these words are taken as the truth. What I didn’t know, however, was that these “dying declarations” retain today what Faust calls “explicit secular importance: a special evidentiary status excepting them from legal rules excluding hearsay.” In other words, these words are believed to be so indubitably true that they can be used as evidence in court. Is this law an antiquated remnant of a less secular day, when Christian beliefs were more thoroughly infused in our legal system? Or have dying words actually been found to be more true than other words?

Works Cited:

Drew Gilpin Faust. “The Civil War Soldier and the Art of Dying” in The Journal of Southern History. Vol. 67, No. 1 (2001)