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travel – University of Wisconsin Press Blog

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Fifteen years ago, I first traveled to Japan to look at its historical and cultural relationship to otherness, to difference. More specifically, I wanted to learn about how the Japanese viewed and represented disability. During my first stay in Japan, much of this eluded me for reasons I write about in In the Province of Gods,. Three years later on my second trip, I found what I was looking for. He recounts this history through the voice of Yaichi, who like Shunkin is a blind samisen singer. Yaichi is also a masseur. Samisen singer and masseur are traditional occupations for the blind in Japan. Yaichi is in the service of Lady Oichi, sister of Nobunaga. She is married to Lord Nagamasa, an ally of Nobunaga until they have a falling out. Because of his blindness, he goes unnoticed by the men but is taken into the confidence of a beautiful woman above his station. During a siege of the castle, Yaichi entertains Lady Oichi along with a visitor, the warrior priest Choroken. Lady Oichi affections are won over by Hideyoshi, even though he killed her family. In the end of the Kabuki version, Yaichi is left on stage, remembering his Lady, who appears in the distance playing her koto. She disappears, leaving Yaichi decidedly alone and crying. But, as in much of Japanese culture, the story simultaneously conveys opposing ideas. He lives in Berlin. My father was born in Grand Forks, North Dakota. He, my mother, one sister, and I all graduated from UW—Madison, and my step-grandfather, Clarence Dykstra, was its chancellor. But it took me sixty years to write about the Midwest—and then it was thanks to Bill Zinsser, my late, great writing teacher. When Bill went blind, he stopped writing and teaching formally, but he met individually with some writers in his rambling Manhattan apartment. I was one of the lucky ones. I went about once a month. That was the deal. It was Bill who urged me to go looking for the grandfather I never knew—Franz Rickaby, who had died when he was only thirty-five. My grandmother had called him Frenzy. With a fiddle on his back, he sought the songs of the shanty boys from the camps of the quickly disappearing white pine forests. His resulting songbook was published by Harvard University Press several months after he died in The book became a minor classic in the world of American folklore and folksong. And I came to know a slice of American history from the lumber industry to the forest fires, from cutover land to the last remaining majestic white pines. I dove into the files of archives and historical societies from Galesburg, Illinois, to Ladysmith, Wisconsin, to Virginia, Minnesota, and points in between. Pinery Boys was born. Gretchen Dykstra is a writer living in New York City. The recipient of multiple honors for travel writing, essays, and memoir, her book is new in paperback and published today. One of the central questions of my memoir is whether it is possible to divorce ourselves from our own cultural norms when we encounter something shocking, exotic, or simply foreign. Recently, a professor of French history approached me with concerns that his university students were resistant to, almost angry about, the idea of Muslim women wearing hijab. A strong feminist sentiment among his students rejected the head scarf as a symbol of misogyny; my professor friend was concerned that this led to feelings of hostility about Islam. How, he wondered, could he get non-Muslim young men and women in New England to consider the hijab from the point of view of the person wearing it—to put aside the cultural norms they take for granted? It seems easy now, as a seasoned teacher, to turn to theory and philosophy to combat this kind of resistance among young people, or any people. But the truth is, we human beings react to difference, and we react to the foreign, because of the visceral feelings they inspire. We have good feelings about those ideas that make us feel powerful or validated. We reject those symbols that make us feel threatened. This is the human condition. We are a fragile, emotional species. I wrote The Blind Masseuse to explore my own gut reactions over the years—and to see how experience, reason, intellect, and even humor might combat those gut reactions. If we are not honest about our emotional truths as individuals, we will never eradicate xenophobia, racism, misogyny, and nationalism. In our suddenly ultra-hostile political environment, and a U. First, they need to provide some rational basis upon which to land at this conclusion. Beyond the scarf is an intricate set of social and religious rules that require thought and context. The important thing is that they have considered—truly imagined themselves on—the other side of the scarf. Alden Jones has lived, worked, and traveled in more than forty countries, including as a WorldTeach volunteer in Costa Rica, a program director in Cuba, and a professor on Semester at Sea. She teaches writing at Emerson College in Boston. Here is Badger baseball season by season, the highlights, the heroes, and the drama from more than one hundred years of baseball. Hofler digs in to reveal each telling detail and scandalous anecdote, which no one would appreciate more than Dunne himself. Compulsive reading. His expedition proves that our inner and outward journeys can take us everywhere we need to go, from happiness at home to elation at the ends of the Earth. Stone, editor in chief, National Geographic Traveler. Judith Vollmer, author of The Apollonia Poems , reflects on writing poems while concentrating on place— city in particular—as a lens to perceive and listen to spaces and the people inside them. The plate glass window facing the street shimmered opalescent blue earlier this morning. Now the glass shifts and resumes the scratched-pearl gray our Pittsburgh sky customarily displays, steady, our mid-Atlantic temperate-zone nerve system holding its own in all seasons. I come here to read, mostly, and write in my notebooks at a quiet table with a hot Americano en route to its second refill. Tiny cousin to Rome, whose centro storico is nearly identical in size and population to ours, my city accumulates and shows off layers equally breathtaking and ruined; writing over and etching onto stories and designs with every emerging generation. She is my harsh teacher and eternal mother—if my city is, in fact, female, and I sense she is. Charles Hood, author of Partially Excited States , explains the double meaning behind his title and explores a variety of curious phrases in the English language. Somebody at Yale once asked John Ashbery about his relationship to the English language. One wishes to be polite, but come on now— really? All of your work to all of language? It would be impossible for any of us to answer that, but most especially somebody whose artistic register spans every octave from Abstract Expressionism to parking tickets. Ashbery said oh no, there must be some confusion. And saying that, he slipped off to freshen his drink. It seems to me American English is like an enormous tiger shark, a monster fish whose gullet contains toasters, clocks, two-by-fours, other sharks, pieces of surfboard, half of a suit of armor. One thing about American English: nobody can accuse us of being all hat and no ranch. Macabre pictures gave Huck Finn the fantods; Mr. Twain also preserved for us galoot, palaver, and forty-rod rotgut whisky. New words arrive daily: clickbait provides a pleasing spondee in the mouth, but I like older, folksier terms, like whisky jack for gray jay. Jardine and Mr. Tom Mix, May 21, Dude is equally inclusive: it used to mean a poor surfer, a term extrapolated from dude ranch, whose label came from the Scots for posh clothing, duds. Whatever happened to pen pals? Do you call it a crayfish or a crawdad? Same creek-bottom bug-lobster, but names change by region. The poet Jonathan Williams loved documenting the language of Appalachia. In my new book, I play with this heritage. The cover photo was taken on a cross-country road trip and the title Partially Excited States I borrowed from material science. Somebody in a hurry is a highballer; in logging, a high climber is the person who tops a spar tree and hangs the butt rigging. Irish karate? Some day I want to publish my still-in-progress poem that celebrates aviation slang: to bingo —to abort, be diverted. No way, brave dudes and dudettes. Best reason to want to live to be ? Just to find out what our hep cat language plans to do next. Charles Hood is a writer of poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction, a photographer, and an artist. A longtime animal spotter, he has seen more than six hundred mammal species and more than five thousand species of wild birds. In his global travels, he has trekked to the South Pole, been lost in a Tibetan whiteout, and recovered from bubonic plague. This is a mature book that manages to be idiosyncratic in its thinking but universal in its concerns. This is a poet whose ecstasy and despair present two sides of the same blade, sharpened on a grim and gorgeous world. He knows the blades and shrieks and pleasures and sweet sick twists in our human hearts, and this bestiary forces us to look, hard and long, in our own mirrors. Please, everyone, read this book! Take this journey with her and return newly alive to the pleasure of moving through the world. Rupp and Susan K. Contributors deftly tie LGBT content to the broader goals of teaching history, not simply making visible the lives of everyday queer people but prompting critical engagement. Essential for college and university libraries supporting teacher training degree programs and curricula in American history, LGBT studies, and the social sciences. Essential, undergraduates and above; general readers. Denton Welch —48 died at the age of thirty-three after a brief but brilliant career as a writer and painter. The revealing, poignant, impressionistic voice that buoys his novels was much praised by critics and literati in England and has since inspired creative artists from William S. Burroughs to John Waters. His achievements were all the more remarkable because he suffered from debilitating spinal and pelvic injuries incurred in a bicycle accident at age eighteen. Though German bombs were ravaging Britain, Welch wrote in his published work about the idyllic landscapes and local people he observed in Kent. All fifty-one letters that Welch wrote to Oliver are collected and annotated here for the first time. I made my first trip to Austin, Texas, during the summer of to locate and transcribe the correspondence of Denton Welch, partially funded by a small research stipend and a University of Kansas Endowment loan. My book originated from the work I did during this visit. As it happened, Ned, one of my closest friends from Lawrence, Kansas, had moved to Austin a couple of years prior and was working for a rare book and manuscript restoration business. Though I knew I would be spending most of my daytime hours in research, I made plans to get together with my friend during the evenings. Ned picked me up at the Austin airport and took me to the bed and breakfast run by Martha Campbell in the Hyde Park area of Austin. Martha had lost her husband and had converted her home into a lovely and relaxing oasis for visiting scholars at the University of Texas. My digs were a series of light-filled rooms where I immediately felt at home. Martha is a well-read and feisty Texas woman, much like her idols Governor Ann Richards and Molly Ivins, and we had many lively political and literary discussions during my time in her home. Some of my most memorable moments at Ms. I was quite used to the deafening droning of cicadas as evening fell, but not to geckos. I was amazed and delighted to see several of these tiny lizards clinging adhesively to the porch walls, then darting after any mosquitos or other insects coming into the danger zone. I half expected one of these creatures to leap onto my shoulders in hot pursuit of its nocturnal quarry, but it never happened. As we sat on the bank of the Colorado River, we heard a deafening squeaking and whirring, preceding waves of bats winging and pirouetting their way down the river channel in search of mosquitos. Ned and I spent a lot of time together, bicycling to Barton Springs for relief from the intense south Texas heat , along the numerous bike paths on the banks of the Colorado, and finally climbing the cliffs above Lake Travis for an exhilarating view of the Texas hill country. On my last Saturday in Austin, we took a hike among some rocky outcroppings near the river. Both wore round, wire-rim glasses, both had a mass of curly hair, and both were intensely attuned to the minutiae of the world around them. Among the things that Denton and Eric enjoyed most were their hikes and bicycling trips around the English countryside, the same types of things Ned and I cherished most during my visit to Austin and in my previous experiences with him. Also, like Denton for Eric, I long ago realized that Ned is one of my soulmates, but also like the writer and his companion, our connection can never be fully and mutually shared; there are barriers. However, no one will ever share in the same way my sense of wonderment in and bewilderment by our world including geckos, bats, and fire ants better than Ned. Daniel J. He lives in Kansas City, Missouri. A couple of times a year, I get together with several friends who all once lived in the same neighborhood in San Francisco. We were sitting around at a recent reunion, and one friend mentioned that our old neighborhood still hers , full of expensive wooden Victorian homes, has a firetruck that patrols at all times, always out of the barn. Where do you usually see it? We got spirit, yes we do, we got spirit, how about you? Manifestos are more I than We, and a noisy, hilarious We at times, like a misfiring car alarm on a Saturday morning, waking up the neighborhood even if the neighborhood is not ready to be awakened. There is the Royal We of queens and popes and threatening law firms. The Nuptial We of married couples is, as Joan Didion described it, the classic betrayal. Sometimes, there was never a We involved in the first place. And there is the Memorial We. The Memorial We is a We that connects the present and the absent. I feel the Memorial We most strongly around Arlington or the Vietnam Memorial or the AIDS quilt, where most of the We are far away, but the multitude of names surrounds us, where pronouns become proper nouns, thousands of names. My name appears as editor on a book recently published by the University of Wisconsin Press, with twenty contributors far more vital than I, each writing about what I would call secular pilgrimage. They are the mad ones who make the manifestos. The Little Rock 9 were threatened for daring to integrate Arkansas schools, but now the high school that hated them is a museum in their honor and a place to which civil rights advocates make pilgrimages every year. I have, as a Catholic, thought quite a bit about the saints of my religion. Then that person would die and leave a huge, gaping hole in the fabric of the village, and the people would miss her so keenly that they just knew that person was close to God. Perhaps we just want to give thanks. That is the essence of the Pilgrim We, I suppose. This might have been the dream of a secular nation that our founding fathers tried to create. He teaches creative writing at Northwestern University and gave the keynote address to the American pilgrims on the Camino de Santiago de Compostela. Robert Tewdwr Moss was a journalist of astonishing versatility who was murdered in London in , the day after he finished this book. He left this lyrical gem as his legacy. Well written and excellently translated. Angola, a former Portuguese colony in southern central Africa, gained independence in and almost immediately plunged into more than two decades of conflict and crisis. What is less known, and what Cubans in Angola brings to light, is the significant role Cubans played in the transformation of civil society in Angola during these years. Offering not just military support but also political, medical, administrative, and technical expertise as well as educational assistance, the Cuban presence in Angola is a unique example of transatlantic cooperation between two formerly colonized nations in the global South. Linda Howe offers the ultimate guide to understanding the cultural policies of the island. Fascinating and comprehensive. Defining the political and aesthetic tensions that have shaped Cuban culture for over forty years, Linda Howe explores the historical and political constraints imposed upon Cuban artists and intellectuals during and after the Revolution. During my first stay in Japan, much of this eluded me for reasons I write about in In the Province of Gods, Three years later on my second trip, I found what I was looking for. Since each string of the samisen has sixteen stops, the three strings together have forty-eight: when you teach a beginner how to play the instrument you help him memorize these stops by marking them with the forty-eight characters of the alphabet. So when blind musicians want to communicate secretly they can do it by playing on the samisen, using this system as a code. Tanizaki Junichiro. In this guest post, she comments on her quest to find the grandfather she never knew, tracing his steps through the Upper Midwest. Alden Jones. We are pleased to announce four new books to be published in April. To what erotics of knowledge does the ecstasy of reading such a cosmos belong? Glass with laser pattern. Ancient Apollonia. Know Your USA. We are pleased to announce five new books to be published in March. Denton Welch. The Harry Ransom Center. Martha Campbell in front of her bed and breakfast. Congress Street bats. Barton Springs. Lake Travis.

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