American Langauges

I’m late to the game, with the president having claimed the authority to declare English the only official language of the United States three weeks ago already. The horrors abound from this administration and on the one hand this is minor in practical terms (especially compared to kidnapping dissidents off the streets and deporting legal residents with no due process) but on the other hand it’s very much connected to making as many people as un-American as possible. And in any case, this is the horror that I’m qualified to say a thing or two about. There’s been a lot written about the status of Spanish in the United States, and I’d like to share some of it with people who might be interested in learning more.

Most of the reading that I assign in my undergraduate class, “Is Spanish One Language?” is in Spanish because that’s the language of instruction but here are three readings in English that I give to my students (and actually the third one is translated into Spanish so I use that for teaching) and that I’d recommend to anyone who wants to learn more about the history and status of Spanish as a legitimately, authentically American language. 

An American Language by Rosina Lozano is the first place readers should go on this topic. A history of Spanish in the USA from 1848-1945, this volume is a history of Spanish as an American language and focuses particularly on legal and legislative approaches to language and on the political consequences of alternately elevating and deprioritizing Spanish in different settings.

Looking Like a Language, Sounding Like a Race is a book that my students always find really challenging  but ultimately very rewarding. It is about how language difference is marshaled into the service of creating and enforcing racial difference. One of my favorite parts of the book is the way it demonstrates how its subjects use language choice and code switching to subvert, challenge, and mock negative expectations about Spanish speakers. 

Part IV of A Political History of Spanish contains five chapters on various aspects of the development of Spanish in the USA and in regions before and after they became US territories and states. I also usually give my students two episodes of a Spanish-language NPR podcast, Radio Ambulante. Those episodes are entitled “No soy tu chiste” and “En busca de palabras” but there are many others that deal with Spanish language and national identity/ies, such as “El idioma que no heredé.” 

And then two other relevant books I’d recommend in the moment are these: When Words Trump Politics: Resisting a Hostile Regime of Language by Adam Hodges and Language City: The Fight to Preserve Endangered Mother Tongues in New York by Ross Perlin. They touch on other issues of glottopolitics (language politics, but I love the sound of the technical term!) that are relevant to the current situation. And finally, The Invention of Monolingualism by David Gramling is a little bit more in the weeds of the academic study of langauges and literatures, but people who are into that sort of thing and are interested in Turkish, Greek, and/or Spanish literatures might be interested. 

My Year in Books (2024)

A year-end, partial roundup of my non-work reading.

(Partial because I’ve been juggling a few extra responsibilities this year and so I did a bad job of keeping track of what I was reading. I know there’s stuff I’m forgetting but, well, I’m forgetting it.  Even with the forgotten books, I read less than I would have liked to (I always say that, but this year was different) because while I was doing a lot of sitting quietly in one place, I really had a hard time getting myself into a reading headspace. Going to aim to do better in the coming year.)

Because I watch Survivor and feel terrible about myself for doing it, I felt a little bit better after reading a book about watching Survivor and feeling terrible about yourself for doing it: The Lie About the Truck by Sallie Tisdale

A satire of everything, only sci-fi insofar as The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy is sci-fi, and ultimately a tale of an extremely loyal cat: Starter Villain by John Scalzi, audiobook read by Wil Whedon.

Because I enjoyed the above so much, although I enjoyed this one less: The Kaiju Preservation Society by John Scalzi, audiobook read by Wil Whedon. 

Reread, if somewhat less attentively than last time but something I will always go back to: The Complete Sherlock Holmes¸, audiobook read by Stephen Fry.

Reread because I wanted to like it as much as as The Library Book and didn’t on my first read six or seven years ago: The Orchid Thief by Susan Orlean

Read more detective fiction by women: Blackwater Falls and Blood Betrayal by Ausma Zehanat Khan

Read more detective/legal fiction by women in positions of power in DC: Stabbing in the Senate, Homicide in the House, Calamity at the Continental Club,  K Street Killing, all by Colleen Shogan*, audiobooks read by Angie Hickman; and Rogue Justice by Stacey Abrams 

Recommended for fans of the Montalbano series, didn’t hit the same way for me: Death at La Fenice by Donna Leon

Added a lot to the podcast it was based on: Blood on their Hands by Mandy Matney, audiobook read by the author

Not the most compelling account of document-based reporting: The Sing-Sing Files by Dan Slepian, audiobook read by the author

Poets are the best prose writers: Martyr! by Kaveh Akbar

Read this last year and forgot to put it on last year’s list so I”m adding it here: Artificial Unintelligence by Meredith Broussard 

el taller reads together selection: No queda nadie de Brais Lamela Gómez, trad. María Alonso Seisdedos

Slow going, DNF so far but will finish in the new year: The Kamogawa Food Detectives by Hisashi Kashiwai, audiobook read by Hanako Footman; My First Murder by Lena Lehtolainen (also my travel-to-Finland selection)

Grossed out by some of the graphic medical details, DNF for now, might try again in the new year: 11/22/63 by Stephen King

Threw into my bag on four transcontinental flights but didn’t manage to read a word. Will try again next year, maybe not on an airplane: We’ll Prescribe You a Cat by Siyou Ishida, trans. Madison Shimoda

And a new addition for this year, an extremely selective selection of children’s literature:

Charmingly macabre and surprisingly high-literary-concept for a children’s book: The Skull by Jon Klassen

Well, that escalated quickly: This is Not my Hat and Circle, both also by Jon Klassen

Poetry and poetics for the Under-2 set: Onomatopanda, Hippopposites, Comparrotives, and Llamaphones, all by Janik Coat; In Praise of Mystery/Elogio al misterio by Ada Limón; Cerca/Close and Lejos/Far by Juan Felipe Herrera

Poetry that is CATastrophic (not sorry at all) in Spanish translation: El gato ensombrerado de Dr. Seuss, trad. Georgina Lázaro y Teresa Mlawer; El libro de los gatos habilidosos del Viejo Possum de T.S. Eliot, trad. Regla Ortiz

On the other hand I was really excited to open this book and see “adapted into Spanish” rather than “translated into Spanish,” and was not disappointed: La llama llama rojo pijama by Anna Dewdney, Spanished by Yanizia Canetti

También nos encantó: El libro del ombligo de Sandra Boynton; Su propio color de Eric Carle; Un pájaro en casa de Blanca Gómez; ¡Qué rico! de Janik Coat.

I had some specialized vocabulary needs: Carros y camiones de Richard Scarry

Normalizing different kinds of families and disabilities from the jump: Everywhere Babies by Susan Meyers; and I Am a Masterpiece by Mia Armstrong

Best of the year:

Martyr!, The Skull, Starter Villain

Footnote:

*Disappointed/concerned about this, which happened after I finished the five books that are available as audiobooks so far: America’s Top Archivist Puts a Rosy Spin on U.S. History—Pruning the Thorny Parts

Wax Nationalism

It took me a minute to realize why the Wax Museum of Madrid smelled like church. The odor I had always assumed was incense used for ritual purposes is, in fact, the smell of votive candles. Votive candles and wax statues of major figures in Spanish history and culture.

I’m currently writing a new biography of Moses Maimonides for a medieval lives series that will include images. My editor encouraged me to find images that are freely available to use through creative commons license or other means. As I was looking for images to include with my book proposal, I discovered that there is a likeness of Maimonides in the Madrid Wax Museum, but I couldnt’ find any photos that would be good enough to use for publication so I went to take my own. 

Behold Wax Maimonides (r) and Wax Averroes (r) in the wax Nasrid-style palace that holds all of the Andalusi figures, regardless of whether they lived in any kind of temporal or geographic proximity to Nasrid Granada.

 

Continue reading “Wax Nationalism”

In the Fray

A prose translation in the style of Jack Spicer of Federico García Lorca’s “Reyerta,” part of a larger project I’m working on, but felt appropriate to share now:

In the fray: Deep in the trenches, the switchblades made in Albacete shine like fish, beautiful in the other side’s blood. A hard, playing-card light cuts through the acrid green, the frenzied horses and their riders’ silhouettes. Two old women cry into an olive-wood cup. The fighting bull climbs the walls. Black angels bring handkerchiefs and melted snow: angels with huge wings feathered with switchblades made in Albacete. Juan Antonio, the one from Montilla, rolls dead down the slope, his body full of lilies and pomegranates at his temples. Now he climbs the fire-cross and sets out down the highway of death. Now the judge approaches through the olive grove, National Guardsmen accompanying him. Spilt blood screams a muted serpent-song. Here, officers! The same thing has happened as always and four Romans and five Carthaginians are dead. An afternoon of crazy fig-trees and hot rumors falls on the wounded legs of the cavalry. And black angels fly through the air following the setting sun: angels with long braids and olive-oil hearts.

Going Walkabout in the Aftermath

This may be a very Thomas Friedman kind of thing to write, but I went out for a walk this morning in the aftermath of the second wave of arrests on campus made of students who were camped out in solidarity with Gaza and I ended up chatting with a parent who lives on the Upper East Side and whose child is a student at Gallatin. She was walking her dog and said she had come by every day this week to see what was going on.

She told me that Gallatin faculty had circulated an email disputing the official account. I said that I thought that was correct, that I had seen nothing that comported with what the communications from the president’s office have suggested about violence, danger, or outside agitators.

She told me her son had started in Tisch, that it had been his dream, I thought she said since he was one and a half but that can’t be, but that he had transferred to Gallatin because of all the “woke bullshit” in Tisch. Like this, she gestured at where the encampment had been.

Oh.

She told me she had been coming down to walk her dog and take pictures to send to her mom, to show her what is happening in New York. She told me they are Jewish.

She told me that yesterday as she walked her dog, she felt safe standing next to one of the NYU security guards who was ex-military and that when one of the students from the encampment approached to ask her to keep protesters’ faces out of any photos she might take, she moved closer to him. She felt safer that way. She made a point of telling me he was a big, Black guy.

She mocked that girl and another who was wearing an anarchist jacket and had thick chains around her boots and was taking photos like she was a fashion photographer.

She told me she felt threatened, that she could “see the anger in their eyes.”

She asked: Do I think the students are motivated genuinely by not wanting people do die or do they hate Israel. I told her I try to give my students the benefit of the doubt and that I really do think they just don’t want people dying but maybe don’t fully understand the implication of everything that they’re saying.

She asked: Do I think they care if Jews die.  

She fawned over my son. She asked does my husband also teach at NYU. She told me about a practice of bibliomancy that some of her Iranian friends — “not Jewish, real Iranian” — practice with the book of a poet whose she couldn’t remember and maybe I knew who it was.

I couldn’t possibly divine.

My Letter to the President and Provost of NYU

On Monday, 150 of my students and colleagues were arrested on campus during a peaceful protest. This is the letter I wrote to the president and the provost in response:

Dear Linda and Gigi,

I am writing to you adjacent to the letter you will have received from a group of Jewish faculty members regarding recent events on campus. I am writing separately because I do not want to co-sign a letter that calls for BDS or the closure of the Tel Aviv study abroad site; however, in every other respect I am in agreement with the concerns outlined in the letter by those colleagues with whom I am in religious community.

As a matter of principle, I do not believe in cultural or academic boycotts. As a practical matter, I conduct research in archives and libraries in Israel and have fruitful collaborations with colleagues there, many of whom are among the fiercest critics of the Israeli government and its policies toward Palestinians and regarding other matters such as judicial transparency, religious pluralism, and gender equity. I consider myself fortunate to have spent time at NYU-Tel Aviv as part of the GRI. However, I do believe that the value of boycotts is a matter on which reasonable people can disagree and that students and faculty must not be inhibited from expressing their opinions, demanding change, and trying to persuade others of their perspective.

Like my colleagues who have already written to you, I am dismayed by the extent to which claims of antisemitism have been exaggerated and used to quash student and faculty expression. While I may not agree with the substance of much of the protest or the set of demands coming from the students who formed the encampment on Gould Plaza and while I may find some of their commentary, chanting, etc., to be disagreeable, in poor taste, incorrect, or objectionable, I have a difficult time construing those things as threats to me as an American Jew on an American university campus.

I have seen the national debate at large about US involvement in Israel and about Israeli policies use antisemitic tropes and trade at times in antisemitic ideas. However, by and large that has not been the case at NYU and I am grateful to my students and colleagues that we can disagree about a very serious political matter without our discussions taking that sinister turn. It is my own opinion that calls for the end of Israel as a Jewish state without similar calls for the end of other theocracies or countries with records of human rights violations may be questionable in their motivation and their impact. However, I can also recognize that many people, including many Jews, do not view it that way; and it is precisely because disagreement exists on this question that I could not imagine imposing my own perspective on this matter, foreclosing discussion entirely, or asking the university to do it in the name of protecting me and my peers.

Linda, we have only met a few times in the context of your previous role in Global and my involvement with programming at NYU-Madrid, but if I may address you directly as I close my letter: It meant a tremendous amount to me to see a Jewish woman appointed president of the university. There’s no real reason for it except that affinity is funny like that. Now, however, I am embarrassed and angry to see a coreligionist quashing debate, which is so central to the Jewish tradition, and, what’s more, turning state power on other religious minorities — I am truly at a loss for words to describe my reaction to seeing photos and video of arrests being carried out while Muslim students were praying maghrib. First and most importantly, it is simply wrong. And second, I am acutely aware that anything that the state can do to a Muslim minority it can ultimately do to a Jewish minority as well. The actions of the NYPD on campus this week sanctioned by your office have not made us safer and have instead enacted a permission structure for repressing not only political but religious speech.

I know through my own area of academic expertise, namely the intertwined intellectual history of Jews, Christians, and Muslims in medieval Spain, that members of the same and different religions can disagree fiercely, pray differently, and sometimes even insult each other polemically while most of the time still managing to walk the fine line of coexistence, resolving tensions through thoughtful engagement and agreement to disagree; based on what I know of your work as a filmmaker, I suspect you know this, too.

I urge you in the strongest possible terms to reconsider your position. Please: do not impose punishments on the students who have exercised their freedom of expression this year and especially this week and do not sanction my colleagues who were arrested while trying to protect them. Treat their demands as demands to be addressed on their face and not as trespass against the university or any of its constituent communities. And barring real violence, please do not breach the trust of our university community by inviting the police to arrest students and faculty on campus. In short, please uphold the university’s own existing commitments to student and faculty freedom of expression and the right to protest.

I appreciate your consideration of my concerns.

Sarah Pearce

Associate Professor, Department of Spanish and Portuguese

Why is Nobody Here? Who is Listening to Us?

I’m in a group that’s reading through Jack Spicer’s poetics this spring, and by way of introduction, we were asked to respond to his “The Poet and Poetry” and it spurred me to make some notes about something that I’ve been trying and failing to write since October. I’ll get there eventually.

***

— I hate the idea of introducing myself as a writer with something super unpolished so I’m going with bullet points so that I don’t feel like I’m uploading a shitty first draft (Anne Lamott) but rather notes for a shitty first draft that I can then share with no-one.

— Spicer’s “embarrassing question” (“why is nobody here? who is listening to us?”) resonates with a lot of the questioning about the relevance of the humanities today, and that’s even before he gets to his jabs at the New Critics.

— In my very small corner of the academic-study-of-poetry world, cited to the point of cliché is the question posed by Mahmoud Darwish: “Is al-Andalus in the earth/ or in the poem?” He’s asking whether this place in time (medieval Spain) that is so lionized or demonized or something-else-with-teethized is or was real or exists only in the imagination of poets.

— Since October I have been avoiding writing something about the unfortunate coincidence in my undergraduate syllabus that had me teaching the Andalusi Zionides the week that the war between Hamas and Israel began. These are lengthy poems written in Hebrew by the otherwise-Arabic-speaking Jewish poets of medieval Spain that express a longing for Zion, sometimes metaphorical and sometimes geographical and real. Normally I try to draw some distinctions between “Zionism” in the Middle Ages and political Zionism in the modern world. This time I just avoided saying the word as much as possible.

— I did a terrible job teaching poetry that I normally love and teach well because I just. didn’t. want. to talk about it. My friend Noam posted on Facebook that he teared up that week in a seminar he was teaching all about Andalusi poetry; I think he did the better job of it because he let his students see the impact that medieval poetry could still have on a person.

— Me? If I cry, it’s about the Sarajevo Haggadah. (Look up Geraldine Brooks’ piece from the New Yorker a bunch of years ago if you don’t know what I’m talking about.)

— NYU kicked Faculty for Justice in Palestine out of the atrium of the library where they were holding a reading of Palestinian poetry because you can’t read poetry aloud in the atrium of the library.

— “Live poetry is a kind of singing… Poetry demands a human voice to sing it and demands an audience to hear it. Without these it is naked, pure, and incomplete — a bore.” Spicer was trained as a medievalist. Of course he knew this.

— One more bullet point would be putting, well, too fine a point on it, no?

The Call de Girona Strikes Again

I’ve written about the Call de Girona before and the perils of trying to commodify Jewish history for a nation that expelled its Jewish population over half a millennium ago: Spain, I love you so much. And then you go and do stupid sh¡!t like this.

The Call museum has struck again, this time with a Purim post that I thought was maybe a joke, maybe playing on the instruction that one should drink until he does not know the difference between Haman the villain and Mordechai the hero. They posted a 19th-century Italian megillah (the Scroll of Esther, read for Purim) with one of the detail photos upside-down and backwards.

         

I posted a comment letting them know, suspecting that it was not a joke but prepared to take it in good humor if they came back at me with a “haha, you missed the humor!” They’ve deleted the post with my comment and re-posted it exactly as it was.

I’ve decided to try one more time, and as I promised them, I’ll leave it at that:

 

My (Incomplete) Year in Books: 2023

I know I say this every year but I really didn’t read that much beyond what I needed to for work. Lots of true crime podcasts and cooking shows — that was about all I had bandwidth for. I also don’t think I kept as careful record of what I read this year as I usually do. And I did read poetry, but not a lot of it stuck. What I did read and make note of, though, was:

Because I don’t actually mind being disliked but sometimes it gets to me: The Courage to Be Disliked by Fumitake Koga and Ichiro Kishimi

This was as hard to get into on a reread as I remember it being the first time around: In Cold Blood by Truman Capote

So much better than I remembered, partly because of the new translation, partly because I wasn’t trying to read it in the space of a week for English 129 on top of all my other freshman-year-in-college coursework from that week: The Odyssey by Homer, translated by Emily Wilson

I wanted the narrator to be a little more critical/skeptical: Black Girl from Pyongyang by Monica Macías

As it turns out, Captain Nemo is a better materials scientist and science communicator than the Titanic guy: 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea by Jules Verne, audiobook read by James Frain

I *really* wanted to read this book from a methodological standpoint and still do, but am not currently in a frame of mind to power through all the airline safety issues (DNF for now): My Hijacking by Martha Hodes

Further DNF: Homer and Langley by E.L. Doctorow (was really put off by the self-indulgent teenaged rape-voyeur fantasy in the opening chapters) AND The Running Grave by Robert Galbraith (and since that’s two in a row, I think I’m officially off that series)

Read for Reasons(tm): Cribsheet by Emily Oster

I thought the last one was the last one, but this is really the last one: Riccardino by Andrea Camilleri, translated by Steven Sartarelli, audiobook read by Grover Gardner

I thought being one of four Sarahs inevitably in every room was bad, but: Doppleganger by Naomi Klein

Reread because first time through was on paper and the audiobook is narrated by Kenneth Brannagh: The Man with the Golden Gun by Ian Fleming

Reinforced my belief that poets are the best prose writers: Pulling the Chariot of the Sun by Sean McCrae

I’m sure I read more this year, but maybe not much more, and a lot of it was books ranging from popular biographies to academic monographs about Moses Maimonides for work-related reasons. But I think this is as complete as this year’s list is going to get. 

Life After Twitter

I began using Twitter in 2012. My first tweet was about the death of the unconventional Inquisition historian Benzion Netanyahu and I joined the site because I wanted to share the news, knew that none of my Facebook friends would particularly care, and had a vague sense that academics hung out on Twitter.

It’s been just over ten years, and my time on Twitter is evidently over. While I was setting up my (gloriously purple!) new iPhone, I accidentally disconnected my account from the two-factor authentication app that I have been using since Elon Musk limited 2fa-by-text message to paying subscribers. I’m locked out of my account, the three employees left at Twitter can’t verify my identity, and that’s that. 

Early on, Twitter was a lifeline for me. The #medievaltwitter community really helped me conceive of myself as a medievalist rather than as any of the other things my odd-duck, interdisciplinary, multilingual self might be.  I met folks who were supportive and encouraging as I raced against the clock to finish my first book and earn tenure. And it was a huge privilege to be able to listen in on and begin to participate in conversations in other corners of the wide academic medieval world. 

Transformative as it initially was, those benefits didn’t last. I grew increasingly frustrated with folks in the English-medieval world who have come to believe that the myth of the magic medievalist (which holds true for teaching — we can teach absolutely anything we’re asked to at the undergraduate level, and we’re often asked to teach everything before the 18th century) holds for research as well, and that being an Anglophone medievalist qualifies you to pronounce ex cathedra on everything from Arabic paleography to Ethiopic chronicles, even if you don’t read the languages. It ranged from disappointing to despair-inducing to watch my own hard-won expertise and that of my colleagues totally denigrated and disregarded because any medievalist can do anything that any other medievalist does. 

By the time the Musk-induced mass exodus from the platform began, I’d already bowed out of most of the #medievaltwitter conversations by now, mostly enjoyed the platform for enthusiastic recommendations of new-to-me books, and had begun branching out into following poetry twitter. My view wasn’t as apocalyptic as some; I don’t imagine the site truly going under any time soon. But all the same, I’m out.

Forty-eight hours off the site have been pleasantly quiet. I might create a new account and try to recreate my community of readers with fascinating and wide-ranging taste, and of Arabists, who never doubt the importance of actually being able to read Arabic before having an opinion on what a text says. But that won’t be at least until the fall, if at all. Right now I’m enjoying the quiet. I’m increasingly burned out, both because of changes in the pastoral care responsibilities we have for post-pandemic students and, mostly, because of the increase in electronic communication that the pandemic forced. I’m happy to have one less thing to check, one less set of notifications. 

I’m also happy about the prospect of returning to longer form writing here. I’ve been thinking for a long time about returning to blogging more seriously, but between Twitter for short things and trying to do more public-facing, proper, edited, in-a-periodical publishing for longer things, I was at a loss for how to use this space. So hopefully that will become clearer. 

It’s the end of an era for me, but between the Musk takeover and a lot of changes that I have coming down the pike in my personal and professional lives, it’s a good moment to mark and make a change, even if it was all because of a tech glitch.