Quiet Desperation Research Articles

Dispatches from the Farm: The Literary Craft of John Gould’s Maine Humor

Dispatches from the Farm: The Literary Craft of John Gould’s Maine Humor

Psychological Domestic Violence against Woman as Reflected in Susan Glaspell’s Trifles

Susan Glaspell (1876-1948) was one of the pioneering American female playwrights who evolved into visibility at the end of the 19th century and the beginning of the twentieth. She had celebrated in her personal and literary life the advent of the new woman striving to fulfill her dreams in a hostile and intensive world. Glaspell based her first dramatic play, Trifles, on an actual murder case she covered while working as a journalist.1 She may write her piece, Trifles, as an explanation for why a woman may murder her husband. In her attempt to explain, Glaspell created the character of Minnie Wright who is oppressed by her husband to the extreme. To fully free herself, Minnie escapes by way of strangling her husband to death. Thematically speaking, Glaspell’s Trifles handles women’s issues in a time where women like Minnie Wright were often forced to remain with “either father or husband just to have a roof over their heads. The life of a solitary woman without male protection was not an attractive option.”2
 In Trifles, the troubled marriage of the Wrights has culminated in Minnie Wright strangling her husband, John. The men vainly look for signs of violent rage, but the women, with growing empathy, are able to recognize the signs of quiet desperation under which many women of their time were forced to live. Glaspell contrasts male and female perspectives throughout the play, and engages the audiences’ sympathy firmly on the side of the women. Susan C. W. Abbotson indicates that “We are asked to witness Mrs. Wright’s life rather than Mr. Wright’s death, and we are shown that the true ‘crime’ has been the way she was being subjugated and ‘destroyed’ by her marriage.”3 Mr. Wright sees women as a submissive group whose concerns hold

Quiet Desperation, Savage Delight: Sheltering with Thoreau in the Age of Crisis. By David Gessner

<i>Quiet Desperation, Savage Delight: Sheltering with Thoreau in the Age of Crisis.</i> By David Gessner

Lawless Spaces by Corey Ann Haydu

Reviewed by: Lawless Spaces by Corey Ann Haydu Kate Quealy-Gainer, Editor Haydu, Corey Ann Lawless Spaces. Simon, 2022 [496p] Trade ed. ISBN 9781534437067 $18.99 E-book ed. ISBN 9781534437081 $10.99 Reviewed from digital galleys R Gr. 9-12 Mimi's relationship with her mother has been falling apart for years now, spurred on first by her mom's boyfriend's moving in, and then by their downplaying Mimi's revelation three years ago of a sexual assault. Now it's Mimi's sixteenth birthday, and Mom and Eric have gone off on an unannounced trip after her mother halfheartedly gave Mimi her present: per family tradition, every girl is gifted with a journal at sixteen and is allowed to read the journals of the women came before her. Alone with only her family's past for company, Mimi sorts through the different accounts, all of which are marked by abuse to some degree, and painful hidden secrets are soon brought to light when Mimi's mom publicly comes forth with allegations [End Page 154] against a moviemaking mogul. This elegantly crafted verse novel begins with Mimi's perspective in 2022 but then shifts timelines and voices among her female relatives, and readers are witness to the seething rage, quiet desperation, and frustrated resignation that each woman feels as the world continues to label girls as good or bad based on their looks and to cloak grave abuse in cultural norms. With an aching clarity, the interwoven stories show how trauma breeds further trauma, and the messy breakdown of relationships between mothers and daughters is a searing reminder that we often soothe our own pain by downplaying that of others. The ripped from the headlines, #metoo premise is given nuance and depth, incisively calling out the main bad guys but also interrogating the system—held up by men and women—that allows them such easy access to power and prey. Copyright © 2021 The Board of Trustees of the University of Illinois

'Viable but non-culturable cells' are dead.

Most bacteria lead lives of quiet desperation, so they sleep. By sleeping, bacteria survive ubiquitous stress, such as antibiotics, and can resuscitate to reconstitute infections. As for other nearly universal and highly regulated processes such as biofilm formation, in persistence, a small population of cells have an elegantly-regulated pathway to become dormant. By inactivating their ribosomes, persister cells sleep through stress and resuscitate once (i) the stress is removed, (ii) nutrients are presented and (iii) ribosome content reaches a threshold. During stress, cells often become spheroid and die, becoming hollow, membrane-enclosed vessels. How cellular content is lost is unclear, but it is obvious that these 'cell shells' are dead; i.e., 'There's no there there'. Critically, due to their intact membranes, the shells appear with membrane-impenetrant stains as 'viable' particles. Unfortunately, the microbiology field of 'viable but non-culturable cells' (VBNCs), though important for demonstrating the existence of dormant bacteria as a result of myriad stress states, has often mistaken these non-viable shells as viable particles that mysteriously may be reborn, when an appropriate incantation is made. We argue here, based on experimental data, that if resuscitation occurs, it is the persister (always-viable) cell population that revives, rather than the cell husks, which are dead.

The Wolves by Sarah DeLappe

Reviewed by: The Wolves by Sarah DeLappe Jared Strange THE WOLVES. By Sarah DeLappe. Directed by Nell Bang-Jensen. Philadelphia Theatre Company, Philadelphia. Livestreamed, December 14, 2020. There were times when Philadelphia Theatre Company’s (PTC’s) The Wolves could be quite overwhelming. The production was streamed into homes everywhere following the cancellation of its indoor engagement early in the pandemic, a move that forced the nine girls on its eponymous indoor soccer team off the stage and into all-too-familiar Brady Bunch Zoom boxes. Playwright Sarah DeLappe’s symphony of teenage chatter, rarely limited to a single conversational stream, now gushed out of a wall of talking heads. Throughout the opening minutes of my first viewing, my eyes darted back and forth across my laptop screen in a mostly futile attempt to identify who was talking and to whom. Eventually, my attention rested on lonely #46 (Emma Lenderman), occupying the center box with a quiet desperation akin to my own. I later came to appreciate her astute positioning: it alerted me to the sense of isolation that this production brought out in DeLappe’s play that others might not have. Click for larger view View full resolution The nine members of the Wolves, an indoor soccer team, pose for a photograph using orange slices brought by #14’s mom. This is a screenshot from the streaming production of The Wolves, presented by Philadelphia Theatre Company. (Source: Chris Swetcky was the director of photography.) Prior to viewing PTC’s version, I would have said that any successful production of The Wolves depends on an abundance of space and respect for how it shapes the girls’ sociality. In her preface to the Overlook Press edition, DeLappe highlights the importance of the indoor arena in which the play takes place, noting that it both insulates the Wolves from the outer world, for good and for ill, and gives them a slice of AstroTurf to call their own. The play unfolds across that turf through a series of pre-match warm-up sessions. Each session acts as a slice of the team’s life, showcasing, among other things, the integration of a new member, the breakdown of a friendship, the rising stakes of each [End Page 249] subsequent game, and the aftermath following the death of a teammate. Embodied in this production by an excellent cast under the direction of Nell Bang-Jensen, the girls use these sessions to negotiate the slippery terrain of late adolescence: sexual maturation and its horrors, pressure to achieve on the pitch and in life, the politics of post-genocide Cambodia, and so on. Despite being known primarily by their squad numbers, each girl is distinctly drawn, albeit with the aid of archetypal shaping. #7 (Hannah Gaffney) is talented, tough, and crass; she and able sidekick #14 (Iraisa Ann Reilly) clash with #25 (Tori Lewis), the driven and dutiful captain. #8 (Margaret Morgan) is earnest and willfully childish, unlike #11 (Donovan Lockett), the daughter of therapists and the picture of “mature for her age.” #13 (Annika Cowles) self-consciously leans into her goofiness, while #2 (Alison Ormsby) and #00 (Michelle Tsai) occupy the outskirts of the group, the former religious and possibly anorexic, the latter overcommitted and anxious. Then there is #46, the perennial new girl, whose cockeyed perspective and air of mystery belie a natural talent for the Beautiful Game. Apart from the grief-stricken Soccer Mom (Leah Walton) who appears in the final scene, the girls’ huddle exists undisturbed by outsiders. Click for larger view View full resolution Hannah Gaffney (#7), Michelle Tsai (#00), and Tori Lewis (#25) in a promotional photograph for The Wolves, presented by Philadelphia Theatre Company. (Photo: Anthony Werhun.) While we never see them in action on the pitch, having the space to literally stretch out typically gives the play both its athletic bona fides and that sense of insularity. The Goodman Theatre’s 2018 production in Chicago, for example, staged the play in its arena space and employed a low wall and nets around the stage, outlining the girls’ bubble and allowing them to kick the ball with little fear of causing an incident. Naturally, PTC’s Zoom setup could...

Living in quiet desperation: The mental health epidemic in Australia’s higher education

Objective: This study sought to investigate the relationship between personal, university, home and community influences on Australia’s university students’ mental health status. Design: Positioned within a qualitative, interpretivist paradigm, the study collected data from participants ( n = 934) by means of an online survey requesting lived or witnessed experiences concerning mental health concerns. Bronfenbrenner’s socio-ecological model informed the design of the study. Setting: Five major Australian higher educational settings. Method: Leximancer software was used for concept development. Data were analysed using thematic coding. Results: Findings provide qualitative data of university students’ experiences concerning mental health status, as measured across four domains. Themes identified include personal (stress, anxiety, life skills), university (grades/free physical activity) and home (closer to home, support networks) dimensions. There was no unprompted reference to the community domain. Results reinforce the need to ensure that current and future student mental health policies and initiatives are implemented within each of the domains addressed – to ensure a more holistic approach to students’ well-being and care. Conclusion: Findings highlight challenges concerning Australia’s university students’ mental health status. Findings present an opportunity for the university sector, community health services, and sports and fitness organisations to develop and implement future collaborative health promotion in higher education settings.

Pinter Three and Pinter Four

Pinter Three and Pinter Four

Co-creating Environments: Empowering Elders and Strengthening Communities through Design.

Working with elders around the world has taught me that those living in grass huts in Africa with children at their feet are often happier than people in assisted-living homes with a chandelier over their heads. My work in design consultancy and in fifteen years of running a nonprofit, Ibasho, that aims to co-create socially integrated and sustainable communities that value their elders has allowed me to learn much about how architects and designers can contribute to helping people live a good life in late life. People often need supportive services or other adaptations as they age, but do they really need-or want-the luxury environment few are accustomed to? The challenge for architects and designers is not to create a built environment whose carefully curated facades hide lives of quiet desperation. It is to help elders access the support they need without upending their lives or severing virtually all ties to their communities.

We Are Taking Only What We Need by Stephanie Powell Watts

Reviewed by: We Are Taking Only What We Need by Stephanie Powell Watts Erin Nicholson Gale (bio) Watts, Stephanie Powell. We Are Taking Only What We Need. Kansas City, MO: BkMk Press, 2011. Great stories articulate something we did not realize we already knew. They provide words for common joys or miseries we may not have stopped to think about directly before reading them. Stephanie Powell Watts’s debut story collection, We Are Taking Only What We Need, features the lives of poor black North Carolinians. Though the pain her characters experience is ordinary in its prevalence, it is no less devastating, especially given Watts’s unique account of it. Above all, Watts eloquently gives voice to what it means to be alone. It is lonely to live a cliché, especially if you recognize your experience as such but cannot stop yourself. Watts’s opening story, “Family Museum of the Ancient Postcards,” describes the life and death of the narrator’s aunt from the point-of-view of her niece. Aunt Ginny finds a mate at forty-two, desperately, and returns home when she recognizes that he is violent and unreliable. Like the narrator, the reader watches the train wreck we all see [End Page 223] coming: “Though we wanted different for her, we knew Aunt Ginny’s story would take one of just a few predictable shapes” (12). And though it does, Watts nonetheless makes the story new with dazzling lines such as: “To say we had a lot in common is wrong on the face of it, but same knows same, one desperation calls out without speaking to another, and we became friends” (13). In this moment, the narrator describes her special bond with her romance-novel-loving aunt. The peripheral narrator and Watts are both able to recognize that predictable narratives still hurt and haunt. Watts’s stories are nothing if not haunting. In “If You Hit Randolph County, You’ve Gone Too Far,” Dee climbs into the back seat of her own car because she does not know what else to do with herself. She is one of many of Watts’s female characters at a loss for what to say, who to be, or where to go. Dee wants to feel connected to and nurture her younger siblings but is incapable of sugar-coating reality for them because she too is wounded. In the back seat of her car, it is “too early for screaming, too early to cry out like a fool” (50). She does and does not want to be noticed by her family. The mid-day sun becomes a metaphor for her life; it is “way too early to know for sure that nobody will listen, good enough or long enough to hear you yelling over and over: I am so afraid” (50). While her younger brother is able to wonder aloud, pitifully, if anyone will bail him out of jail, Dee suffers alone. Dee’s inability to be vulnerable with her family is common, yet Watts’s portrayal is so fresh that readers cannot help but examine and sympathize with Dee’s pain. Watts frequently takes readers to moments that people would rather not look at. In the unrelenting story for which the collection is named, the featured children and husband/father are abandoned. All of the characters in this story are like the suicidal dogs at the beginning of it, aching to be put out of their pathetic misery. Tammy, the white teenage babysitter the father, Roger, impregnates; Portia, the eldest of her charges; the young and hungry Cal; and the love-crazed Roger are “taking only what” they “need,” but everything they have is not enough. Portia admits, repeatedly, in moments of quiet desperation, that she wants her mother. Tammy, no less desperate in her flirtations with every male she encounters, admits to eleven-year-old Portia that she miscarried her “sister” and ate part of the dead fetus that fell from her body, looking like “grape jello” (67). In this way, this story (and the collection at large) just keeps getting deeper into the heart of miseries we would rather avoid. But just like the domestic abuse scars...

Phishing for phools: the economics of manipulation and deception

Ever since Adam Smith, the central teaching of economics has been that free markets provide us with material well-being, as if by an invisible hand. In Phishing for Phools, Nobel Prize–winning economists George Akerlof and Robert Shiller deliver a fundamental challenge to this insight, arguing that markets harm as well as help us. As long as there is profit to be made, sellers will systematically exploit our psychological weaknesses and our ignorance through manipulation and deception. Rather than being essentially benign and always creating the greater good, markets are inherently filled with tricks and traps and will “phish” us as “phools.” Phishing for Phools therefore strikes a radically new direction in economics, based on the intuitive idea that markets both give and take away. Akerlof and Shiller bring this idea to life through dozens of stories that show how phishing affects everyone, in almost every walk of life. We spend our money up to the limit, and then worry about how to pay the next month’s bills. The financial system soars, then crashes. We are attracted, more than we know, by advertising. Our political system is distorted by money. We pay too much for gym memberships, cars, houses, and credit cards. Drug companies ingeniously market pharmaceuticals that do us little good, and sometimes are downright dangerous. Phishing for Phools explores the central role of manipulation and deception in fascinating detail in each of these areas and many more. It thereby explains a paradox: why, at a time when we are better off than ever before in history, all too many of us are leading lives of quiet desperation. At the same time, the book tells stories of individuals who have stood against economic trickery—and how it can be reduced through greater knowledge, reform, and regulation.

Friends for Life by Andrew Norriss (review)

Reviewed by: Friends for Life by Andrew Norriss Kate Quealy-Gainer, Assistant Editor Norriss, Andrew Friends for Life. Fickling/Scholastic, 2015 [240p] Trade ed. ISBN 978-0-545-85186-2 $17.99 E-book ed. ISBN 978-0-545-86029-1 $17.99 Reviewed from galleys R Gr. 4-7 School often isn’t kind to kids who differ from the average, a fact that Francis, Andi, and Roland know well. Francis is a quiet, sensitive boy with an eye for fashion and aspirations to be a designer; tomboy Andi has a tendency toward solving problems with her fists; Roland’s obsession with gaming and his mother’s obsession with cooking for him have left him severely overweight. They’re all bullied and they’re all loners until they’re brought together by Jessica, the ghost of a girl whom only they can see. At first the friends are just glad to bask in one another’s company, but soon their curiosity about Jessica’s death (which Jessica does not remember) leads them to discover that she killed herself. While Francis, Andi, and Roland are shocked, they’re also sympathetic—they were all considering suicide right before meeting Jessica. This British import starts with a familiar premise, a group of misfits finding friendship, but provides nuance and depth to each character so that when the revelation of their suicidal thoughts comes, readers may be surprised but they’ll also be deeply invested. The group’s subsequent discussion about their feelings is searingly honest but without melodrama; Jessica’s description of “the Pit,” the quiet desperation that drove her to her death, is particularly heartbreaking, and it also serves as a reminder that depression does not require a recognizable catalyzing event nor does it always manifest overtly. This is a creative approach to a serious subject; Norriss provides a touching, accessible, and ultimately hopeful portrayal of depression that will feel ringingly true to young readers who have spent time in their own “Pit.” Copyright © 2015 The Board of Trustees of the University of Illinois

Combatting bacterial persister cells.

Most bacterial cells lead lives of quiet desperation in biofilms, combatting stress; yet, their prevalence attests to their ability to alter gene regulation to cope with myriad insults. Since biofilm bacteria are faced with starvation and other environmental stress (e.g., antibiotics from competitors, oxidative stress from host immune systems), it behooves them to be able to ramp down their metabolism in a highly regulated manner and enter a resting state known as persistence to weather stress. Hence, persister cells are metabolically dormant cells that arise predominantly as a response to stress through elegant gene regulation that includes toxin/antitoxin systems. In this review, an analysis is made of the genetic pathways that lead to persistence, of cell signaling via the interspecies and interkingdom signal indole that leads to persistence, and the means found to date for combatting these cells which are frequently tolerant to a range of antibiotics.

The Witch’s Boy by Kelly Barnhill (review)

Reviewed by: The Witch’s Boy by Kelly Barnhill April Spisak Barnhill, Kelly The Witch’s Boy. Algonquin, 2014 372p ISBN 978-1-61620-351-1 $16.95 R* Gr. 5–7 The loss of Ned’s twin brother leaves a difficult legacy: Ned’s father feels guilty for not saving his son, Ned’s mother misused her magic to ensure Ned’s survival, and the town seems to believe the wrong brother lived. Far away, Aine struggles with her father, the Bandit King, who is driven by grief and greed to find the magic stored in Ned’s home. When Aine and Ned meet, they’re initially distrustful but eventually become deep friends. Warring nations, mysterious stone figures, and the running thread that magic is alive and dangerous all add to the gripping core narrative of two children who find wells of strength and ingenuity from being pushed out of their comfort zones. The setting is exceptional: lush descriptions are flawlessly integrated, conveying a deep understanding of the natural world and the people, flawed and complex, who populate it. Quiet desperation leavens the novel, counterpointed with the protagonists’ staunch striving for better lives (whether gotten through good or corrupt means). Offer this to Gaiman and Wynne-Jones fans, and to realistic fiction buffs who are open to brilliant coming-of-age stories sharing space with touches of magic. Copyright © 2015 The Board of Trustees of the University of Illinois

President's Page

“I'm from the government and I'm here to help.” Ronald Reagan regarded these as terrifying words, but on certain occasions, all of us might appreciate a little assistance from the governing body du jour. As a member of SEG, for example, you, Samantha Seismos, might want access to the latest Distinguished Instructor Short Course (DISC) covering “Azimuthal Anisotropic AVO Applications in Uninteresting Rocks,” but you're living out your geophysical life in Quiet Desperation, Kentucky (population 114). The nearest SEG section (37 members) is some 423 miles west of you and has never had a visiting SEG continuing education (CE) course. What do you do? To whom do you address your request?

The Majority of Rabbits Lead Lives of Quiet Desperation

The Majority of Rabbits Lead Lives of Quiet Desperation

The Reluctant Journal of Henry K. Larsen by S. Nielsen

Nielsen, Susin. The Reluctant Journal of Henry K. Larsen. Toronto: Tundra Books, 2012. Print. Susin Nielsen is the acclaimed author of Word Nerd and Dear George Clooney: Please Marry My Mother. She has won several writing awards and has consistently created compelling, charismatic, and fully drawn characters. In her new novel, The Reluctant Journal of Henry K. Larsen, Nielsen explores dark and uncomfortable themes such as mental illness, bullying, violence, tolerating differences, and the quiet desperation felt by those who must refashion their lives after a tragedy. For readers concerned that the novel will break their heart, it does. And then it fills that broken heart with joy. Through his affecting journal entries, readers come to know 13-year-old Henry K. Larsen. His therapist recommends that he write about his thoughts and feelings in the aftermath of “IT”—hence the ‘reluctant’ diary. However, Henry’s diary entries are laugh out loud funny on one page and provoke tears on the next. Henry has an extraordinary voice that is unlike any other narrator. He is angry, confused, saddened, shamed, and lost after “IT” happened. He has moved with his father to Vancouver to try to piece together a new life but in reality, his family barely manages to make it through the day. Henry is leery of other people, pushes them away, and he cannot find a place for himself or make sense of his emotions after “IT.” The last thing that Henry anticipates is that he will open up to anyone about “IT”—not to his wonderful new friends Farley and Alberta, to his therapist, or to his two new neighbours. However, incidents at school and at home force Henry to talk about Jesse and the “IT” that changed everyone’s lives forever. The Reluctant Journal of Henry K. Larsen is a quick and deeply satisfying read. This book is required reading. Despite the darker themes, the emotional payoff is not only gratifying, but inspiring. Highly Recommended: 4 out of 4 starsReviewer: Tami OliphantTami Oliphant works as a research librarian at the University of Alberta Libraries and for the School of Library and Information Studies at the University of Alberta. She earned her Master of Library and Information Studies from the University of Alberta and her doctorate from the University of Western Ontario. She has worked in academic libraries, public libraries, communications and planning, and as a sessional lecturer and researcher at the University of Alberta and the University of Western Ontario.

Being and Nothingness

I am reminded of the title of this quintessential existentialist novel by Jean-Paul Sartre as I contemplate the current existential crisis of radiologists. Both a field of philosophical inquiry and a literary movement in the last century, so popular that it became a cliche in the works of Woody Allen, existentialism concerned itself with human existence and particularly its purpose: the meaning of one’s life in a transient, senseless reality. Existentialists sought a justification for being, meaning, and societal commitment in an ultimately haphazard, pointless universe. Sartre, in particular, argued that selfdefinition is a struggle and in constant conflict with how one is defined by others. In a random world, he felt that we create our values and nature through freedom of choice and sheer will (Nietzsche was a forefather of existentialism). Unlike the traditional view that one was endowed with a “human” nature determining one’s ultimate purpose and value, existentialists start with the notion that existence precedes essence. Existential philosophy insists that our essence is of our own making. Although we find ourselves existing in a world not of our own making, we are faced with the responsibility of choosing our own nature and values, our raison d’etre, and in doing so, we have the daunting responsibility of choosing those attributes and values of our nature that we would also wish for others. Despair comes in seeing the contrast between the world we are thrown into, one with little ultimate meaning and that we cannot control, and the absolute freedom we have to create ourselves, to determine that meaning which is under our own control. Yet the mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation, as Thoreau said well before the existentialist movement. Conquering despair requires choosing a meaning—an essence—through our actions, in the existentialist formulation. The rapidly mutating health care environment mirrors the haphazard external reality painted by existentialists; namely, it is a world we do not control and did not choose, and one that constantly tries to define us by nonrational determinations of value. Existentialists would argue that ill-defined external value allows us to create value from within ourselves—self-derived value being more powerful because it cannot be taken from us by others. So how should radiologists define themselves? What are the values, the attributes, we should choose for determining our essence? By extension, how would our professed selfdefinition incorporate those values we would wish for those around us? The issue of existence preceding essence is not entirely certain for radiologists. Our essence becomes a subject of angst only if existence is a given. Do radiologists need to exist in the first place? As clinical specialists adopt the increasingly facile, user-friendly imaging tools developed by radiologists and their engineering colleagues, and couple those tools with their perhaps deeper understanding of anatomy, disease pathophysiology, and specific patients’ clinical pictures, the need for radiologists has begun to be threatened. Imagine clinicians’ being further armed with advanced pattern recognition software, decision support with embedded neural circuits enabling choices for symptom-related protocols for various studies. For that

In the “Light Out of the East”: Emerson on Self, Subjectivity, and Creativity

In “Experience” Emerson announces his readiness “to die out of nature, and be born again into this new yet unapproachable America I have found in the West” (CW 3:41). Whatever personal manifest destiny the passage expresses, it arises from Emerson’s deep affinity for Eastern philosophy. The inscription in Emerson’s notebook “Orientalist” is “Ex oriente lux,” or “Light out of the east” (1993, 39), and, as Ronald Bosco notes in his introduction to the notebook, Emerson believed that the light of the East “has the power both to nourish otherwise impoverished individuals and nations and to transmute . . . the crime of materialism into wisdom” (1993, 14). His west is far to the east in “the sunbright Mecca of the desert,” not Huckleberry Finn’s territory, the pioneer’s prairie, or the miner’s rocky west, and unlike miners, settlers, land speculators, governments, and most Western philosophers, he does “not make” or stake a claim; he “arrive[s] there, and behold[s] what was there already” (CW 3:41). Emerson’s approach to the west entails the death or disappearance of “all mean egotism” (CW 1:10) and the open flexibility of a Zen practitioner’s mind. The grand sense of entitlement and the mission of proliferation that sent most European Americans west are quite foreign to Emerson’s acknowledgment and receptivity. All a miner knows is by penetration into the earth; all

No Longer the Gold Standard

No Longer the Gold Standard