Wednesday, December 31, 2008

Rite of Passage Subverted (Part Two)

Back in July, I posted Rite of Passage Subverted (Part One). In it, I professed my deep admiration for Joss Whedon’s Buffy The Vampire Slayer. The point of the first post was to explain why I love the show. Part two, however, is a critical analysis of a specific episode. At the time of the first post, I’d fully intended to post part two within days or weeks. Here we are, close to the close of 2008 and I’m just now getting around to posting this second part…

Buffy’s Bout with “Helpless” –ness

Peter Barry, in Beginning Theory, writes, “culture… can be ‘read’ like a language… since culture is made up of many structural networks which carry significance and can be shown to operate in a systematic way. These networks operate through ‘codes’ as a system of signs; they can make statements, just as language does, and they can be read or decoded by the structuralist.”[1] Buffy’s life-threatening rite of passage in season three’s episode “Helpless,” then, can be read within the larger framework of postmodern American cultural rites of passage.

Let’s first look at the big picture: What is a rite of passage?

Simply put, "rites of passage are a category of rituals that mark the passage of a person through the life cycle, from one stage to another over time, from one role or social position to another." The purpose of these rites—aside from the variety with which they are enacted—is also pretty basic: "It is through rites of passage that people are able to contemplate, to formulate and reformulate, their ambivalent condition of animal and human."[2] From this we can conclude that, generally speaking, any rite of passage serves to mark a stage of psychological, sociological, and/or spiritual development—anything outside the basic biological fact of existence.

Taking this general context of human rites, we can drill down further into the meat of rites by turning to Joseph Campbell. According to Campbell, “rites of passage, which occupy such a prominent place in the life of a primitive society (ceremonials of birth, naming, puberty, marriage, burial, etc.), are distinguished by formal, and usually very severe, exercises of severance, where-by the mind is radically cut away from the attitudes, attachments, and life patterns of the stage being left behind.”[3]

When Campbell denotes “primitive society” and “very severe... exercises of severance” he is, of course, referring to cultures or societies that practiced or still practice severe (sacred) rites of passage—ones that don’t fit within the framework of our modern world.[4] As Jeremy Northcote notes, “such formal initiation ceremonies are not seen to be prevalent in advanced industrial societies.” If, as Northcote continues, current “status-marking events” neglect to truly serve passage for modern youth, leaving them “uncertain of their precise [social] status” and “lacking a clear transitional path,” then we are left questioning the very existence and continuance of modern rites.[5]

However, from a structuralist standpoint, any time we invoke the notion of a “rite of passage,” we are pulling from a pre-existing structure that has its foundation in exactly what Campbell tells us: rites serve as symbolic severance from a past condition or state of being.

In our postmodern world, we’ve kept the phrase but have watered down its meaning. We have swapped rites for events (to borrow Northcote’s choice of phrasing). For us, rites of passage are not necessarily sacred, and involve much less ritual and severity. When I’ve asked my students to describe their “rites of passage,” I’ve been met with either a generalized account of maturation, or a specific event, such as the obtaining of a driver’s license. These, by Campbell’s definition, aren’t very severe. They occur in a “transitional period,” but aren’t anchored by a community and/or religious structure, aren’t “definitive in marking a person’s assumption of adult status.[6] They allude to the essence of change but there is no sacred rite or ritual, so to speak.

The sense of the sacred also bears mentioning because most of what we continue to call rites of passage are attached to a liminal notion of the sacred. Take for instance baptism, which is necessarily sacred. This is a ritual most modern American Christians practice; it is a sacred rite. Yet, the sense of the sacred is questionable given the age of the child and the circumstances surrounding the baptism. The rite is observed primarily for the parents’ sake and merely involves a kind of sacred solemnity.[7] The symbolic severance is minimal.

What we’re left with, then are rites of passage that are divorced from severity and the sacred—in a sense their locus of meaning has been displaced. So, let’s call this a watering down of rites of passage, or playing dress-up. We have a structure of passage in place, but that structure functions much like dressing up on Halloween. When Americans observe Halloween, we dress in costumes and assume personae comparable with our outward appearances. The result is most entertaining and, from a visual standpoint, the effect is somewhat (anachronistically) convincing. But the reality of such exercises is far from the reality invoked. This is analogous to our modern rites of passage. A driver’s road test is certainly no match for a teenage ritual circumcision.

Here’s the problem: Our “dress-up” is more myth and nostalgia than reverence for and understanding of the past. Our invocation of rites of passage in dress-up fashion are ritual without significance. History and common sense should both tell us this is a bad combination.[8]

I raise all of these points as a precursor to discussing Buffy’s rite of passage in “Helpless” because I need to invoke the underlying structure of postmodern American rites in order to illustrate the significance of Buffy’s subversion: She, ultimately, refuses to play dress-up and dispels the charade. As a contemporary feminist hero, she not only completes the rite but breaks the tradition in the process.[9]

First, we must identify Buffy’s rite of passage. Though it is referred to as such in the episode, I’ll match it to Campbell’s definition: “rites of passage… are distinguished by formal, and usually very severe, exercises of severance, where-by the mind is radically cut away from the attitudes, attachments, and life patterns of the stage being left behind.”[10]

Formality

Buffy’s trial comes on her 18th birthday and stems from a longstanding tradition for slayers. Each slayer, we are told, must be put to a test on her 18th birthday—both to test her abilities and to mark her transition into adulthood. The test involves Buffy first being stripped of her “superpowers,” and second, being trapped in a house with a particularly virile vampire. Buffy passes her test if she successfully defeats the vampire. If she’s successful, her powers are restored and she officially comes of age as a slayer.

If she doesn’t succeed, she dies.

The formality of the ritual is witnessed as the episode unfolds. For the first time in the series history, we are introduced to the “Watcher’s Council,” the governing body of the slayer’s own watcher, Rupert Giles. Until now, the audience hasn’t been aware of the Council’s existence. The show has made passing reference to a “Slayer’s Handbook,” and we’ve been privy to a peek at Giles’s own training and history, but much of the watcher/slayer relationship has merely been alluded to. There’s a slayer; she has a watcher. That’s it.

With “Helpless,” we get more. In fact, a delegation from the Watcher’s Council is sent to Sunnydale to oversee the events. The delegation brings with them the vampire who will be the focus of Buffy’s test, and Quentin Travers (Harris Yulin), director of the Council, monitors the events. Travers is a stodgy, by-the-books talking head who quickly asserts his power over Giles, reminding Buffy’s watcher that his loyalty is to the Council.[11] In season two of the show, we learn that Giles is not as prim and proper as we’ve been led to believe—or at least, his own stodgy-ness is balanced by a dark past and a deep, fatherly love for Buffy. In “Helpless,” however, we see what we’ve come to know and feel about Giles usurped by Travers’s.

I mention this because the formal operation of Buffy’s ritual is established by this filling out of the origins and workings of the slayer/watcher relationship. By inserting this hierarchical order into the Buffyverse the writer of the episode, David Fury, alludes to what Joseph Campbell notes regarding the societal function of ritual: “All participate in the ceremonial according to rank and function. The whole society becomes visible to itself as an imperishable living unit. Generations of individuals pass, like anonymous cells from a living body; but the sustaining, timeless form remains.”[12] Prior to the arrival of Travers and his gang of Council cronies, Buffy and Giles seem to be operating outside the societal framework of Sunnydale. Actually, we are continually reminded that Buffy is ostensibly alone. Travers’s entrance signifies a reversion of this assumption. Buffy is not alone. In fact, the long line of slayers—though singular in their existence—is accompanied by an elaborate structural framework.

We see that—through Travers—the traditional relationship between slayer and watcher is modeled as a working relationship, of employee and supervisor (community elders to neophytes).[13] Travers even scolds Giles: “Your affection for your charge has rendered you incapable of clear and impartial judgment. You have a father's love for the child, and that is useless to the cause.” The “cause” is code for guiding principle. Much as a ritual might indicate a need to order (indoctrinate) a community, the “cause” of the Watcher’s Council is its reason for existence and, as such, motivates its actions. Buffy, then, is the initiate to the cause and her transition through this rite is crucial to the structure of the Buffyverse.

This is indicative of the main function of rites of passage: “In the extreme expression of the interdependence between the individual and his or her social group, the initiate is construed as a microcosm of society, and what is enacted by or upon the individual is thought to transform the collectivity.”[14] Buffy’s rite, then, is clearly enacted as a microcosmic experience that reinforces the general conceit of the show.

Severance

The ritual itself is particularly cruel—and, for my purposes here, wildly fitting to the definition of a traditional rite of passage. Buffy’s severance comes in the form of an injection which renders her Slayer powers ineffective. This gives the rite of passage a physical reality to match its need to “radically cut away from the attitudes, attachments, and life patterns of the stage being left behind.” The purpose of the rite is to signal Buffy’s transition into adulthood (slayerhood). By stripping her of her powers, she is physically cut away from the attitudes and attachments that she might be inclined to rely upon.

The physicality, when it comes to Buffy, is also representative of the necessary psychological severance. Buffy’s powers, we are led to believe, are at the core of what makes her the slayer. She is the slayer because she’s the one with the powers, the chosen one. Remove those powers (physical severance) and she ceases to be the slayer (psychological severance).

This clearly serves the purpose of the rite: “[Rites of passage] foster the arousal of self-conscious questioning… Individuals (as well as the society itself) may be moved to the edge of profound self-investigation and exploration.” In fact, the episode offers us plenty of evidence to reinforce this questioning of self. Buffy is, at first, somewhat relieved by the notion that she has become “normal” again. She has struggled for two years now to come to terms with her role in life—being denied a comfortable teenage existence—and now, stripped of her powers, she gets what she’s wanted.

This quickly changes, however. In a most revelatory respect, losing her powers shows Buffy just how much she has grown as a slayer—despite her protestations to the contrary. Faced with not being the slayer, she comes to appreciate her lot in life much more. Surely, and this is true of life in general, she wrestles with her identity throughout the course of her existence (a la the show), but this rite serves to mark her first major life transition.

It’s not that simple, though. The severity of Buffy’s rite goes beyond simply invoking self-reflection and passing a road test. We must keep in mind that the slayer’s superpowers even the playing field in regards to vampire and demon slaying. Buffy is not necessarily stronger than her victims; she has simply been vested with a power like theirs. Removing this power puts her on the level of regular humans—humans who are, nine times out of ten, easy prey.

Add to this that Buffy’s “test” involves a criminally insane vampire with mommy issues. The Watcher’s Council keeps said test subject, Kralik, heavily sedated, boxed up, and strapped down. Fighting a “regular” vampire without her powers might serve as test enough, but the Council takes the rite a step further, making this a most severe exercise in passage.

Now, it also bears mentioning that proof of this severity comes with the Council’s inability to contain its test subject.[15] Kralik’s ability to break free of his controlled environment proves regular humans are no match for his strength and cunning. In classic television fashion, though, Kralik chooses to play along with the test—even though he has killed and turned his captors.

One more point about severance: I’ve made much of the physicality of Buffy’s severance. It is, after all, the centerpiece of the ritual. A true slayer, if the rite be proved, should come out victorious even without her powers—because a “true” slayer is more than just her superpowers. I’ll return to that notion later, but for now, let me mention the additional psychological goodies: If the ritual was conducted without assistance from Giles, then my analysis might not be complete. Luckily for me, Whedon and Fury have made this rite about more than just empty, formal ritual.

Giles is the key facilitator. He is the one who injects Buffy, thereby disabling her.

This serves the ritual best because Giles is not just Buffy’s Watcher. Buffy is the slayer, the one with the powers, but her reliance on Giles assistance goes beyond that of employer and employee. Giles has become Buffy’s requisite father. As such, his role in the ritual multiplies the stakes: Buffy’s rite is ultimately invoked by her father. By injecting his daughter, Giles “radically” cuts Buffy “away from the attitudes, attachments, and life patterns of the stage being left behind.” Furthermore, by stepping aside to let the ritual commence, he is clearly detaching himself to let Buffy succeed or fail on her own.

I’ll add that Giles-as-father is reinforced by the pairing of his father-ness with Buffy’s biological father’s lack of father-ness. Prior to this episode, we’ve had evidence that Buffy’s real father, Hank Summers, is a deadbeat; this is substantiated in “Helpless” by a broken promise to take Buffy to an ice show for her birthday.[16] Here again, Buffy’s rite is doubled: She is separated from both of her fathers.

Since I’m talking about fathers, I might as well talk about mothers: Kralik’s “mommy issues” are an interesting addition to this episode. I’m not sure there is much more to talk about here, but it is curious that Kralik’s subversion of the initial plan winds up incorporating Buffy’s mother into the fray. Buffy is betrayed by her father(s) and must save her mother. Interesting.

Turnabout Is Fair Play

Buffy passes the test.

I’ve been intentionally cagey; All is not as I’ve made it seem.

In fact, what I find most brilliant about this episode is that it manages to take models of traditional rites of passage and turn them on their head: Giles breaks the integrity of the rite; Buffy rejects the resultant incorporation that is her reward for completing the ritual.

The quote from Travers that I used above is a key to breakdown: Giles spills the beans to Buffy. Because he is fatherly to her, he can’t bear to see the torment that his role in the ritual has caused her. Her self-reflection (most important to the rite) is what leads Giles to explain his role in stripping Buffy of her powers.

The integrity of the test is thus compromised.

But, as with Kralik’s deviation from—but continuance of—the test, Buffy still must perform. The stakes are heightened when we learn that Joyce Summers has been folded into the situation.


Now, where does this leave us? Buffy passes the test. Through her own cunning and sense of purpose, she is able to defeat Kralik. In the parting sequence of the episode, Travers smugly notes that Buffy has passed the test—but Giles has not. Giles is relieved of his duties as Watcher because he was unable to fulfill his role in the test.

But what about Buffy? Yes, she’s passed, but what does it mean?

Traditional rites of passage have a “fundamental tripartite form[…]: separation, transition, and incorporation.” The point is for the person “to be separated from one role” so that he/she can “be incorporated into a new one.”[17] The ritual, as outlined by the Council, is meant to transition a slayer from apprentice (or neophyte) to tradesman—employed and loyal to the Council. Buffy is separated from her childhood reliance on her Watcher so that she can be incorporated into the hierarchy of the Watcher’s Council.

Buffy’s response, of course is “Bite me.”

But where does this leave us? What has really changed? Has Buffy really become something different? Did the rite of passage succeed in transitioning Buffy from one stage to the next?

Let’s try to answer some of these questions.

True, Giles gets fired, and Buffy passes her test (regaining her powers and, later in the season, a new Watcher), but as Buffy herself tells Willow at the end of the episode: “You know, nothing is really going to change.” Giles will continue to serve as Buffy’s watcher, if not in an official capacity (he is later reinstated in season five), and the season will progress much like it began—much like any other season. Buffy is still a high school student, and she still relies on her friends and Watcher. So what has changed?

We could ask this of any rite of passage. Think about the tradition of Bar Mitzvah. In a completely empirical, reasonable way, very little real change occurs. Twelve and thirteen are the ages of Bar/Bat Mitzvah transition, and are meant to coincide with puberty. But, as we well know, puberty is not something that can truly be defined by age—and it certainly does not happen overnight. Not all children “come of age” biologically at the same time. As such, the arbitrariness of age is highlighted. We could easily say the same about Buffy’s rite of passage at eighteen.

On a purely practical level, then, we have to admit that while major events provoke change, those changes are not sudden or complete. In the case of a ritual, like a Bar Mitzvah, we have to concede that prior to and shortly after the ritual occurs little really changes. In the end, we go through the motions, have the party, and then continue on as before but slightly different.

In Buffy’s case, not much really changes in regards to her physical reality.

However, “physical” is the key.

Real change occurs not in grand dramatic moments but in successive, small events. In the case of Buffy’s ritual, the changes set in motion by her ritual are not immediately apparent—to her, or those around her—but something has indeed changed.

Let’s go back to the point of ritual. Surely the Council enacts this ritual not out of a sense of obligation or spiritual need. Tradition is a source, definitely, but that tradition springs from a very important place: Power. For the Council, this ritual represents an important turning point, a point at which indoctrination/initiation solidifies the relationship between Watcher and Slayer. Buffy’s ritual represents the point at which she becomes a company man. From the Council’s point of view, the ritual represents the point at which Buffy declares her allegiance to—and thereby submission to—the Council’s authority.

All of this leads to a rather enlightening notion (one that has already been touched upon above): “Whether or not rites of passage, or any ritual activity, is necessary to human existence is a debatable matter, yet rites of passage do provide for and fulfill at least one crucial task: that of inculcating a society’s rules and values to those who are to become its full-fledged members.”[18] When Travers and the boys waltz into town, their sole purpose is to inculcate Buffy. Their formality, the ritual’s severity, and even Giles’s firing, all serve to reinforce Buffy’s place in the world. Yes, she is the chosen one—but she must take orders from the council. And now, as an adult, she needn’t question her place in the food chain.

Buffy’s response (again): “Bite me.”

And that’s where the “rites subverted” really culminates. Buffy, as I’ve illustrated here, partakes in a very traditional, severe, ritual of severance, one designed to incorporate her into the power structure of the Watcher’s Council. Her teacher and father figure, Giles, partakes in the ritual, thereby validating it. She successfully completes the tasks set before her.

But she is not incorporated.

The tripartite formula of ritual is not fulfilled. The Council is successful in initiating Buffy’s separation; the process of the ritual—including Giles transgression of it—secures Buffy’s transition; the result is not incorporation but rather further separation.

Check. Rite subverted.

The Problem of Now

All of this leads me to a somewhat depressing conclusion: Advanced industrial societies are incapable of fulfilling the tripartite ritual of passage because the individual cannot be revered if incorporation is the goal. That is, modern status-marking events—such as obtaining drivers’ licenses and voting—have little to do with community establishment and reinforcement. By privileging the individual, we’ve lost the society.

Now, in the case of Buffy, we see the complications of this: Clearly, the establishment that she debunks is worth debunking. Travers’s masculine, even misogynistic, authority is not about establishing community (though he professes the value of the cause), but about order driven by a short-sighted patriarchal power structure. Buffy’s separation instead of incorporation is representative of the modern dilemma: How does one become an enlightened individual while remaining part of a community?

In “Helpless,” Buffy does the right thing by dismantling unnecessary tradition. This very notion is ultimately fulfilled by the conclusion of the series: Buffy not only debunks tradition but saves the world by establishing a new order out of the ruins of the old. As such, “Helpless” illustrates the transformative power of ritual while at the same time exposes the faults inherent in traditional power and social structures.

And that’s why I love this show.



[1] Peter Barry, Beginning Theory. Manchester Univ. Press, 1995. p. 47. Barry’s text is an excellent introduction to literary and cultural theory. Much of my analysis is a synthesis of structuralism, post-structuralism, and feminism.

[2] "Rites of Passage." Encyclopedia of Religion. Ed. Lindsay Jones. Vol. 11. 2nd ed. Detroit: Macmillan Reference USA, 2005. 7795-7796.

[3] Joseph Campbell, The Hero With A Thousand Faces. Princeton Univ. Press, 1973. p. 10.

[4] I use this phrase to encompass, in a general way, American culture as we experience it at the moment.

[5] Jeremy Northcote, “Nightclubbing and the Search for Identity: Making the Transition from Childhood to Adulthood in an Urban Milieu,” Journal of Youth Studies, February 2006, p. 1.

[6] Northcote, p. 1.

[7] Solemnity seems to have replaced our traditional sense of the sacred. Think about “moments of silence.” Silence now stands in for the sacred, and in a ritual baptism there is much ritual but little substance. I speak, of course, from personal experience…

[8] Take for instance the use of “nigger.” In discussion of diversity and tolerance in the classroom, I’ve talked about the danger of phrases like “My grandfather was a good guy, but he was a racist.” True, we are often confronted with such cultural paradoxes (anachronisms, even), but the danger lies in the subtle grafting: The good “racist,” and by extension the acceptable use of the word “nigger,” is a person (or word) without significance—or racist (nigger) under erasure. By invoking the phrase “rite of passage” in regards to a modern “rite” like a driver’s license test, we create a sociological misnomer: The severity of ritual circumcision is put in contrast to a silly driving test and now we have a misunderstanding that leads to colonization.

[9] Turning and turning again: Buffy’s rite, as I will discuss later, actually functions more like a traditional rite than those we’ve come to see as normal.

[10] Emphasis mine.

[11] It might bear mentioning that Travers represents a classic notion of masculine power. As the head of the council, he assumes a position above Buffy—even though she is clearly the one with the power. This relationship plays out, to some extent, in this episode, but is further explored later in the series.

[12] Campbell, Hero, p. 383.

[13] I seem to be drawn to a “work” model here. In drafting, I originally wrote “corporate” instead of “hierarchical.” Bears footnoting: Harkening back to Campbell, I’m reminded of his comments in The Power of Myth regarding societal power moves from church led to government led to economy led structures. If we take this as a viable concept, then my predilection to equate work with community (or church) seems like a reasonable thought.

[14] "Rites of Passage," p. 7796.

[15] I can’t help but note my desire to end “subject” with an “s” because both Kralik and Buffy don’t play by the rules!

[16] There’s even a sad note when Buffy receives only the gift of tickets from her father—and not his actual presence. Buffy heartbreakingly dances around the prospect of Giles taking her to the show, but his guilt clouds him from the offer.

[17] "Rites of Passage," p. 7797. This is analogous, too, with Joseph Campbell’s hero’s journey cycle: departure—fulfillment—return.

[18] "Rites of Passage," p. 7798.

Saturday, December 27, 2008

The Year That Was 2008: Best Music

It should come as no surprise that my year has been marked by one simple fact: I’m getting old. Work has consumed most of my time this year, and what little was left got eaten up by my PH.D. applications: Whether I was studying (ineffectually) for the GRE, attempting to craft personal statements that struck a balance between “please take me” and “I am everything,” or trying to decide where in this great land of ours to drag my wife and kitties off to, I had little time for entertainment.

I have now successfully (I think) submitted five of my seven applications, and I can say with some surprise that I didn’t know just how much mental room this whole process has been taking up in my brain. I want this. I want this so much that the very prospect of failing to get in anywhere riddles me with doubt, fear, and a healthy dose of self-loathing.

All of which is to say that I’ve been so preoccupied that not even music has soothed this savage beast.

I say all of this, too, to explain (in part) why my list this year is a bit scatter-shot. True, every year has its challenges in regards to distilling the best sounds into a representative list, but this was the first year that I honestly share the “there wasn’t much good music” sentiment that my colleagues have begged to in previous years. This year I (halfheartedly) searched for that one album, that one new musical experience that enthralled me—the way, say, Red Devil Dawn did in 2003—but I don’t think it ever came. Sure, many of the albums on my list got heavy rotation, but not in the way Cease to Begin lodged itself in my brain last year and ever begged for one more listen.

In fact, I struggled with the number one spot this year. Last year, my top three all shared number one qualities—and the final decision came only after careful deliberation

This year, not so much. I actually flirted with the notion of forgoing a number one album altogether.

And so, this list represents what I was listening to in 2008, and it has some really excellent albums on it, but I haven’t approached this list with as much glee as I have in past years.

Since I knew this going in, the albums I’ve chosen represent a wide range of talents and moods—and the album in the top spot is one I may very well have disqualified in previous years. But I’ll get into that below.

I’ve listed down to ten, in traditional fashion, then followed up with a couple honorable mentions and other goodies. Enjoy!

Here we go.

10. Al Green – Lay It Down

Here’s the thing: I am too young to be a true Al Green fan. I fell in love with Al through a greatest hits Columbia House purchase many years ago. And, much like my love of John Lee Hooker, James Brown, Aretha Franklin, Ray Charles, Sam & Dave, and Cab Calloway, my love of Al is founded in a vague appreciation of soul. I think I get it. And I love to spin it. But I’m not sure I can say more than that.

So, here we are, in 2008, and we get a new batch of songs from Al—and they’re good. “Lay it Down” has a groove that’s anchored by a walking bass line. “Just For Me” is a classic party jam; the la la la’s of “Stay With Me (By The Sea)” are classic soul notes. “Take Your Time” is one of the best tracks on the album and really helped me slow down and relax through all the tension of the year. And so, Al makes number ten. There’s not much new ground here, but in many ways this throwback was just the thing for 2008.

9. My Brightest Diamond – A Thousand Shark’s Teeth

Okay, so Al Green was all about the groove and good soul. This one’s all about mood and the dark regions of the mind. My Brightest Diamond made my list in 2006, and so the release of this one I anticipated. It did not disappoint. Shara Worden’s voice is haunting and far reaching—from the soft lilting of “If I Were Queen,” to the soaring crescendos of “Ice And The Storm.” Just as Al Green’s “Take Your Time” reminded me to relax, Worden’s repetition of “I want to shake myself and turn my heart inside out” ran through my head like a personal mantra, a reprimand. The tinkling tempo of “Apple” is deeply reminiscent of Bjork, but where Bjork has disappointed me of late, this hit the spot.

8. The Whigs – Mission Control

My first thought: There’s nothing new here. This is all derivative. And, to some extent, this is true. The first track smacks of Brain Drain era Ramones. Track two launches straight and unabashedly into The Clash. The first chords of track three sound so much like Foo Fighters that when Parker Gispert starts singing, I have to remind myself that it’s not Dave Grohl. By track four, I can’t help but wonder who’s going to get nicked next. But that’s okay. And, not surprisingly, the trip down memory lane nets the gem that is “Right Hand On My Heart,” the best track on the album. From here on out, it is what it is—and it’s damn entertaining.

7. Sigur Rós - Med Sud I Eyrum Vid Spilum Endalaust

Mandy and I bought a few CDs before hopping on the plane to Finland this summer. This was one of them. What comes after “Gobbledigook” doesn’t matter (well, that’s not true…). Hands down one of the best songs of the year. Earlier this year, Mandy brought home Screaming Masterpiece, a documentary about Icelandic music. We watched it and it was really fascinating. This led us to watch Heima. Really, one can’t help but be mesmerized by these guys. The whole indecipherable lyrics thing is ultimately about either a pre- or post-linguistic phase—filling in the space between head and heart with raw sound. Good stuff.

6. The Hold Steady – Stay Positive

Okay, given what I’ve already written, this one should be here for the title alone. This was most definitely a year for the imperative: Stay positive. Personal trauma aside, this was a rough year for the world (or at least the world I live in; rough might be too positive for the rest of the spinning orb), and while many of us are thankful and hopeful for the coming Obama administration, we’ve still got some climbing to do.

Of course, the title doesn’t necessarily reflect the imperative that it implies. That’s the point, I’m sure, but… True, this album is not Boys and Girls. No one expected it to be. It is, however, a good follow-up. “Sequestered In Memphis” is an excellent song, reminiscent of all that is good about Springsteen and the E Street band, and The Hold Steady for that matter. Good piano, good sing-along chorus. “Both Crosses” is also an excellent track—eerie guitar and poignant lyrics, a winning combination.

5. Flight Of The Conchords – Flight Of The Conchords

While this album has songs that were clearly from last year, it transcends the HBO show. Transcends, of course, may sound too fancy for an album of silly songs, but I stand by it. The production value here is excellent. “Foux Du Fafa” is laugh-out-loud hilarious, but it’s also quite beautiful and sonically deep. Take away the riff on faux French and you have a hot dance track. And that’s what makes the album work: It’s a perfect blend of satire and honest songwriting. I’ll add that I was surprised by the overall funkiness of the album. For a show about two guys making stripped down, awkward music, this offering is well rounded and downright groovy. “Business Time” was on my list of best tracks last year—and it still stands as a great song this year, on this album. Way to go Brett Jemaine! Quincy Jones would be so proud!

4. She & Him – Volume One

This is a novelty that works. M. Ward, who made my list in 2006, teamed up with actress Zooey Deschanel and made a lovely little throwback album. Some of the songs on here are downright jarring in their jingle-jangle attempt to recall Patsy Cline, but “Why Do You Let Me Stay Here?” is another of the great tracks of the year—it harnesses a manic energy that is infectious. The song’s video offers a fitting, repetitious bloodletting that is even more frightening couched in upbeat tempo and “do do do”s. I surprised myself with the heavy rotation of this one.

3. Aimee Mann – @#%&*! Smilers

On our way out of Finland, Michael burned a copy of this one for me and Mandy. He’d asked if I had it. I said no, thinking about how disappointed I’d been with The Forgotten Arm. But hey, a free CD is a free CD. And Lost In Space was so good. Surely I’d be entertained. Turned out to be worth the nicking. Last year, Brian gave up on Iron & Wine (or at least came to a ‘one trick pony’ conclusion). I defended The Sheperd’s Dog because I’d found something in it that I’d previously found lacking. To some extent, that’s what happened here with Smilers. I didn’t expect much from it; was not terribly impressed initially (except, of course, for “Freeway”); wound up loving it.

I’ll add that while I’ve mentioned some stand out songs so far, I think “Freeway” may just take top honors this year. Much like “Man O’ War” was 2006’s best song (for me at least), “Freeway” seems to epitomize 2008. Sure there were better songs—sonically and lyrically—but “Freeway” captures the essence of the year: “You got a lot of money but you can’t afford the freeway.” In a year that saw gas above four dollars a gallon, was there really a better line? I think back to the Hummer Mandy and I saw at a Hobby Lobby—with its “0 MPG” license plate and American eagle spare tire cover—and shake my head.

2. Vampire Weekend – Vampire Weekend

The question is, who gives a fuck about an Oxford comma? Yeah, that one line sold the album for me. If this hadn’t been such a strange year, then this one would probably be number one. Truth is, though, after the honeymoon phase, I haven’t really gotten back (in)to this. There is a certain jauntiness to the album that’s refreshing. “Mansard Roof” has got to be the biggest delight of the year—its off-kilter beat just the thing for playing croquet out on the lawn. And what was that about an Oxford comma? Literate alt-pop at its best. This is a spring/summer, roll the windows down, enjoy life kind of spinner.

Problem is, I don’t feel much like dancing these days.

Plus, there’s the age thing. I think I’m a bit put off by the fact that these guys are a bunch of Columbia kids oozing with pep and youth. Depressing, really…

1. Colin Meloy – Colin Meloy Sings Live!

And then there’s this one, number one and only. An album of mostly Decemberists songs. An album of one man and a guitar. I’m reminded of Ben Folds Live, the audacity of a one man show and all it represents. Good but a bit too self-involved, a bit too myopic. But that’s the joy here. This year, which has been so consumed by my own self-discovery, my own self-consumption, seems best summed up by an album that stands as a testament to the individual.

Don’t get me wrong: I have been—am—a proponent of the group. In the past, I’ve championed the band over the individual. But this year was really about self-salvation, about the individual’s response to the yawning of apocalypse. After all, we are alone. It is our loneliness that drives us into each other’s arms—but it is also our loneliness that calls out for solitary salvation, for one savior.

That’s it, you know. This was not only my self-involved year, but it was a year defined mostly by another man.

This was the year of Barack.

I guess that’s the root of my choice: Colin Meloy’s solitary stage performance reflects the year’s overall messianic predilection. I have to admit my own surprise at where this is going, where this has gone. This was a year where we looked to a man to save us. Funny how misleading that is, given the fact that it was votes of thousands, millions that really saved us. Funny how it all turns back around on us. We strive to be individuals while we seek comfort and safety in others. We long for the one god, one savior—knowing that we need more, that we need to take part in the making of salvation—but, but, but…

All this aside, I found much to admire in this recording—from classic Decemberists tracks to Morrissey and Shirley Collins, this one man show is more than the one man. I’m also reminded of the ‘74 Tom Waits’s gem of a live show that came out as Dime Store Novels, Volume 1. True, there are better recordings (of both Tom Waits and Colin Meloy songs), but I find great comfort in this stripped down format, one that makes clear the genius at the mic.

Honorable Mentions

Ra Ra Riot – The Rhum Line

This one deserved more time from me, and probably a place in the top ten. I listened to it quite a bit, and I am convinced it’s good. But it’s also caught up with some of my GRE mental baggage and I’ve had a hard time separating the two—which means I haven’t listened to it much in the last month or so.

It’s good because it feels familiar, but I need more time.

MGMT – Oracular Spectacular

This was an early 2008 treat that unfortunately didn’t hold up. Actually, it’s more the holes in it that kept it from the top ten: There are a handful of excellent tracks here, one in particular that makes my year end mix, but these highlights are caught between some bits and pieces I could do without. “Time To Pretend” is the one great track that will find its way onto many future mixes.

Best EP of the Year - Andrew Bird – Soldier On

“Sic of Elephants” is a great song. The rest of the EP is pretty damn good, too.

The Curious Case of the Failed

Here’s the thing, I’ve already mentioned that it’s been a strange year. Below, you will find albums that didn’t quite work for me. In some cases, it’s clearly due to a flawed construction—one that I’m not the only one to have picked up on. In others, it’s more me than anything else—more my cold, indifferent turn of head to a child pleading for affection.

Crooked Fingers – Forfeit/Fortune

Clearly the biggest disappointment for me this year—though I have to admit my desire to include it in the top ten despite its flaws. “What Never Comes” gave me hope, but the sharp turn into “Luisa’s Bones” made me cringe on my first listen through. The opening of “Phony Revolutions” was promising, but didn’t pay off. And then, well, that seems to be the case for the album. I love “Run, Lieutenant, Run” and the last two tracks, but… Is this one just undercooked? I think so.

Conor Oberst – Conor Oberst

I’ve tried to like this guy. There’s a charm and appeal to his voice and songs, but I can never quite buy into it. There was a time when Ryan Adams held sway in my musical soul, but his dogmatic persistence began to grate—to the point of his pooping of his own party. I get the same vibe from Oberst. And while I enjoy “I Don’t Want To Die (In The Hospital),” I can’t help but wonder if Paul Westerberg is getting royalties every time this kid opens his mouth.

Death Cab For Cutie – Narrow Stairs

Production-wise, it’s good. “I Will Possess Your Heart” gave me pre-purchase hope. But then I stopped giving a shit. Bottom line: Ben Gibblets has jumped the shark for me.

I wanted to like this album. It was time for some more Cutie. I mean, Benny boy took two spots (a la Postal Service and Cutie) on my 2003 list. Surely Narrow Stairs should have been a much needed balm this year?

It wasn’t. Again, this could just be because I’m a bitter old fart who has become his job, but I don’t think so. Two reasons: “Your New Twin Sized Bed” and “You Can Do Better Than Me.” What was once lyrical honesty replete with real suffering and empathetic open-heart-emo now comes off as creepy and lame. I mean, really, what’s with the beds? Didn’t we get enough of that on Plans?

Coldplay – Viva La Vida

I tried to like this one, too. I was surprised to find it in Michael’s CD player (recently reclaimed from Peugeot anti-theft silence) on the way to the Helsinki airport. I had to do a double-take. You see, I’d already decided I wasn’t into it. When we got back to Greensboro, I took Aimee Mann and Mandy took Viva La Vida. A few days later, Mandy commented that she was really digging it. I decided to give it another try. Was I missing something? Much like a wealth of this year’s offerings, I just couldn’t get there… I don’t really know why I couldn’t get into this one. Maybe it’s because Chris Martin sweats so much when he performs…

Stephen Malkmus & The Jicks – Real Emotional Trash

Pitchfork recently re-reviewed the re-release of Brighten The Corners. In ten years, it went from an 8.6 to an 8.7. I would like to think this a sign of the album’s sustainability. I remember when it came out and the cries from Pavement fandom that it was no Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain—or Slanted and Enchanted. But I liked it. In fact, I still think it’s probably my favorite Pavement album. You see, I was a late-comer to the Malkmus scene and the polish and shine that often mars a band’s last album helped clarify what it was that I enjoyed about the band: Malkmus’s ability to craft wonderfully catchy off-kilter tunes.

It’s what I love about indie rock: the place where irony bridges the gap between craft and disenchantment. Good indie rock is not just sloppy and disaffected; it’s art in spite of the anxiety of influence. It’s the all the best bits of postmodernism without resorting to Simpsons yellow (whatever that means).

All of which is to say that the jammy quality of Real Emotional Trash turns me off. Yeah, there’s good solid guitar crunch here, but I can get that anywhere. I want my Malkmus mocking Yule Brynner.

I’m Too Old To Keep Up With All This Shite

Two weeks ago, I did something I never thought I would do: I cancelled my eMusic subscription. This was the thing that was keeping me plugged in, my link to fresh new music. I had a good deal. I was grandfathered in—getting my 65 downloads a month for a steal of a price.

It was becoming a waste of money, though. I just couldn’t keep up. I’ve got so much stuff downloaded that I haven’t really listened to. I couldn’t justify keeping up the subscription—even though it was a really good deal.

So here’s a list of things I downloaded but didn’t really listen to. Yeah, there’s a few Pitchfork picks that I wish I hadn’t downloaded, but no Fiery Furnaces award this year:

British Sea Power – Do You Like Rock Music?
Okkervil River – The Stand Ins
The Lovely Sparrows – Bury The Cynics
The Mae Shi – Hlllyh
The Strugglers – The Latest Rights
Tapes n Tapes – Walk It Off
Tricky – Knowle West Boy
The Week That Was – The Week That Was
My Morning Jacket – Evil Urges

The Rogue Wave Award

Mates of State – Re-Arrange Us

Last year, I completely forgot there was a new Rogue Wave album—until I read about it in Brian’s list. Same goes for Mates of State this year. I wound up really digging Asleep At Heaven’s Gate. Here’s hoping the same will be true about Re-Arrange Us.

Two, Too Late Entries

Adele – 19

She was really good on SNL. Found out shortly before cancelling my eMusic subscription that I could get it through them. Did, but haven’t really listened to it yet.

Bon Iver – For Emma, Forever Ago

Was listening to Bob Boilen’s song picks of the year and discovered the great track “Skinny Love.” Downloaded the whole album, but haven’t gotten past “Skinny Love” yet.

Shoulda Coulda Woulda

Three I wanted to buy, but didn’t: Martha Wainright, I Know You’re Married But I’ve Got Feelings Too; Kanye West, 808s & Heartbreak; The Cure, 4:13 Dream.

The 2008 Mix Tape

1. Freeway – Aimee Mann
2. Lay It Down – Al Green
3. Lights Out For Darker Skies – British Sea Power
4. I Don’t Want To Die (In The Hospital) – Conor Oberst
5. What Never Comes – Crooked Fingers
6. I Will Possess Your Heart – Death Cab For Cutie
7. Time To Pretend – MGMT
8. Sequestered In Memphis
9. Lamb And The Lion – The Mae Shi
10. Inside A Boy – My Brightest Diamond
11. I’m Amazed – My Morning Jacket
12. Singer Songwriter – Okkervil River
13. You Cheated Me – Martha Wainright
14. Each Year – Ra Ra Riot
15. Why Do You Let Me Stay Here? – She & Him
16. Gobbledigook – Sigur Ros
17. Right Hand On My Heart – The Whigs
18. Sic Of Elephants – Andrew Bird
19. Skinny Love – Bon Iver
20. Chasing Pavements - Adele

Friday, December 12, 2008

The Queen of Curves is Dead

Long Live the Queen!

The most photographed woman of the 1950’s died yesterday at the age of 85.

It’s been almost ten years since I first became (slightly) obsessed with pinup queen Bettie Page. True, the first time I saw images of her, I was “intrigued,” but I was a high school student (1992) and had plenty of other diversions to keep my starved, perverted brain occupied. It wasn’t until I was in graduate school that I “rediscovered” Page and began the critical inquiry that became what still stands as my most substantial piece of writing.

In 2001 I was—and I can say this with some certainty—one of (if not the) foremost scholars on Bettie Page. I knew everything there was to know about the pinup queen, and I had lots of educated opinions about her and her work to boot. While conducting my research, however, I became increasingly cynical about the Bettie Page subculture (mania) that began in the eighties and culminated with the release of Mary Harron’s biopic The Notorious Bettie Page. At first, I was happy to drone on about Page and her sordid life. But the more time she spent in the postmodern spotlight, the more I felt myself turning away. I stopped trolling ebay for memorabilia. I stopped searching for articles and news of Bettie’s whereabouts. I even missed the boat when Harron started production on her film.

I did get to see the film on the big screen, though, and I can say that, for an initiate, the film is a excellent place to start. It strikes a nice balance of the defining moments of Bettie’s life, though it does gloss over some of the important bits.

Anyway, all of this is to say that I cherish the time I spent with Bettie (never having met her, sadly), even though the last few years have taken me away from her. I will also say that, in this time of mourning, looking back over my writings, I am still proud of what I’ve done—and I still count Bettie as one of the great women in my life. Much will be written in the next few days, weeks, about the voluptuous, smart but ideologically trapped woman, but I doubt any of it will truly capture the enigma that was the queen of curves.

In remembrance of her passing, I’d like to share with you some excerpts from my masters’ thesis—primarily bits from my concluding chapter. My work, titled “‘The Girl Who Made Good Being Bad’: Bettie Page and American Postwar Ideology,” made a sweeping journey through Bettie’s life and matched it up with prevailing fifties cultural attitudes. I looked at Bettie’s photographs (pinups, cheesecake, and amateur camera club stills) and film loops (dancing and spanking) and connected them with postwar notions of sex and femininity.

You can find out the basics of Bettie’s life elsewhere. Simply Google “Bettie Page” and you’ll find a wealth of information that will be more or less accurate. I’ll also link you to an article by Richard Corliss that I’ve skimmed but not fully read (over on Time magazine’s website) Bondage Babe Bettie Page Dies at 85.

Time also has a nice sampling of images. The one I’ve included here, though, is my favorite. It represents everything that Bettie Page was—as artist Jim Silke has noted: curves, curves, curves…

Where It Began

I first stumbled onto fifties pin-up legend Bettie Page in the December 1992 issue of Playboy magazine. Her image stood out from the other glossy, air-brushed images; she was beautiful, with a voluptuous figure, black hair with sharp bangs and a bright, inviting smile. In the article accompanying the pictures, entitled “The Betty Boom,” comedian Buck Henry claims that Bettie’s smile “could break your heart” (122). But what intrigued me more than her looks was their ability to evoke nostalgia for an era I was born thirty years too late to experience. These images exuded a wholesomeness deeply rooted in a past American culture.

That sense of nostalgia was misleading, though.

Bettie Page was one of the most photographed models of the fifties, posing in everything from bathing suits to lingerie to nothing at all—and even bound, gagged and whipped in bondage photos. As I uncovered a wealth of images and film looks, I became somewhat obsessed with Bettie Page and how it was that 1950s culture, which I had always assumed was ultra-conservative, could produce sexually transgressive material that ranged from funny to bizarre to shocking. As I went searching for the answer to this puzzling question, I became increasingly cognizant of the inherent instabilities of postwar American culture and Bettie Page’s place in it.

The Problem With Revival

The Bettie Page revival can loosely be shuffled into the period between the early 1980s and mid- to late 1990s—over twenty years after Bettie Page disappeared, never to be photographed again. The “Betty Boom” culminated with the publication of several biographies, authorized and unauthorized, memoirs, and the recovery and reprinting of Bettie Page artifacts in The Betty Pages and Private Peeks. Her image, and subsequent style, infiltrated the pop scene not only through comics, art and written texts, but through fashion design as well. And her new fan base was not only decades younger than Miss Page, but included both men and women. Fashion photographer Ellen von Unwerth claims that Bettie’s photos are “so charming that everybody—women and men—likes them” (Essex and Swanson 270).

The revival, which was sparked first by artists like Robert Blue and Olivia, exploded with the emergence of Dave Stevens’s comic book, The Rocketeer. The comic book was a combination of “all his boyhood fantasies: nostalgia for a lost era, heroes, adventure, a man with a rocket who could fly—and a raven-haired girl named Bettie” (Essex and Swanson 249).

Stevens’s was one of the new admirers of Bettie Page—a group of loyal fans who were not old enough to remember the heyday of the model, who were either too young to purchase the men’s magazines that specialized in ‘cheesecake,’ or were not even born yet. Like all her new fans, Stevens did find something intriguing about Miss Page. In her authorized biography, Stevens’s claims that “there’s a timeless quality about her that gives her images a real currency even though they were shot some forty years ago” (250).

Stevens ordered some of Bettie’s film loops in the late seventies and began holding impromptu parties for his friends, showing his collection of loops with “a Cab Calloway soundtrack—the perfect jazz accompaniment to Bettie’s ‘wiggling.’” (249). The comic book artist’s obsession culminated with the production of a comic book devoted to Bettie Page: Bettie Page Comics. And in 1992, when Miss Page resurfaced after disappearing from the modeling scene in 1957, Stevens was one of the select few allowed into the aged queen’s presence (250-51).

Although her images have caused a certain amount of liberated dialogue about the variety of sex and redefinitions of deviance, Bettie Page was not a sexual pioneer. In fact, her appeal now is as dichotomous as it was in the fifties. On one side are men and women like Shalom Harlow, who are attracted to Bettie as a powerful, sexual liberator and dominatrix. Jim Silke suggests that “Bettie’s story is not the tale of an exploited woman. She was no victim. What you’re looking at is a proud, independent woman who went against the grain of her time, ignored the mockery and degrading rejection of polite society and remained true to herself” (51).

Or as Essex and Swanson conclude, “Bettie’s authenticity allowed her to transcend her time and make the transition from postwar pin-up girl to a modern symbol of female sexual independence. Modeling in the era of tease, she was solely an object of male desire. Her fans were exclusively men in search of a sexual fantasy—a forbidden sexual fantasy at that.” But, they further add, “today she is embraced by women as well as men” and Bettie “has become an enduring symbol of female independence and genuineness” (285). This praise of Bettie’s independence is typical of an anachronistic mindset and with the weight of my arguments here, seems if not dangerous, particularly limiting.

The other side of Bettie Page’s current appeal is far more dangerous, however.

If modern women and men find Bettie’s images liberating, neglecting the peculiar circumstances of postwar ideology, then I cannot claim that this is a bad thing. In fact, I applaud any attempts to reconstitute sexualized women in a positive, non-objectified way. But unfortunately, this is not the typical case.

The other faction of modern Bettie devotees—and I would imagine, the larger grouping—are drawn to her images in search of a nostalgic, throwback to a passive or contained femininity. Journalist Willie Morris claims that Bettie’s “body was of the Fifties, my fifties, full and opulent as the replenishing epoch itself, not the taut, slender, athletic silhouette of the Nineties models nor of today’s high-ballasted strippers with the silicone aspect” (68). Bettie Page’s voluptuous curves and wholesome smile are equated with the idyllic, wholesome quality of fifties media that David Halberstam notes (in The Fifties) as a reason for feelings of nostalgia. Bettie’s smile and curves are seductive in an era marked by post-feminist backlash. This backlash is frightening because it points to a cyclical repeating of history. Betty Friedan attributed the invention of the feminine mystique to a fear of ‘masculine’ women, women who posed a threat to puritanical views of women and their subservience to men. That fear manifested in placing a greater emphasis on female biology and sexuality—which, in turn, confined the definition of femininity and allowed for sexual objectification and the commodification of women as sex objects. Nostalgia, then, betrays similar fears and desires to return to this definition of femininity.

In the wake of feminism, American men in the late twentieth century, and into the twenty-first, have turned away from the supposed danger posed by redefining gender—a reaction that mirrors the creation of the feminine mystique. Turned off by militant feminism, career women, and even seemingly androgynous images of models, these men have found solace in postwar pinups like Bettie Page. But with a note of concern and warning, I must point to Friedan’s ironic insistence that men in the fifties got what they asked for and were not happy with it once they had it. By denying women the right to become individuals and locking them up in the home, the feminine mystique created mass sexual dysfunction. By denying the positive effects of feminism, and swimming in nostalgia, modern men are opening themselves to a similar outcome.

It is because of this repetition of history that I reserve particularly harsh criticism for Playboy. Under the guise of sexual revolution, Playboy made it possible to continue selling postwar femininity well into the latter half of the twentieth century. By using Marilyn Monroe to define the Playboy female aesthetic, Hugh Hefner solidified the type, the girl next door, and neatly packaged and set the standard for a legitimate female sex object. And in the decades that followed—with the rise of Playboy—women became subjected to that standard, even to the point of continued dysfunction. It would be impossible to count the number of women who have flipped through the pages of Hefner’s magazine—like postwar women who subscribed to the ideals in women’s magazines—and have been seduced by those images. The abundance of breast implants and plastic surgery, the scores of women searching for identity through the use of their bodies, the wannabe starlets, simply reinforce a continued preoccupation with the role of female sex object.

And while Hefner certainly did not invent the sex object, he capitalized on and successfully commodified female sex objects and helped confine women to the objectified, ‘female role’ that he proposed to destroy.

In the end, the difference between Bettie Page and the models that pack modern men’s magazines—Playboy included—is the very authenticity or ‘genuineness’ that Essex and Swanson claim is what makes her image enduring. Again, men disenchanted by the androgynous, post-feminist woman, or the overtly constructed, highly sexualized Playboy model or porn star, find a ‘genuineness’ in Bettie Page’s images that they perceive unavailable for purchase in America’s sex market. Bettie’s breasts are real, her curves are real, and her wholesome smile—abundantly documented in countless accounts—is real. While to some Bettie Page stands out as a ‘proud and independent woman,’ a beacon for powerful sexuality, to others she is a lost, true model of femininity that desperately needs to be recovered.

Both views, however, neglect to fully see Bettie Page, projecting their own needs and desires onto images that are decades old. Bettie Page was not liberated by her modeling, she was contained by it. And as a product of fifties femininity, her images do not represent a ‘true’ model of femininity, but rather the female role as defined by the feminine mystique.

The countless surviving images of Bettie Page continue to offer conflicting sexual discourse, but the real Bettie Page is gone.

And with that, I’ll end: I hope Bettie has found the peace she truly deserves.

She will be missed but not forgotten.


SOURCES


Dyer, Richard. Stars. London: BFI Publishing, 1998.

Essex, Karen and James L. Swanson. Bettie Page: The Life of a Pin-Up Legend. Los Angeles: General Publishing Group, 1998.

Foster, Richard. The Real Bettie Page: The Truth About The Queen of the Pinups. Secaucus: Citadel Press, 1999.

Friedan, Betty. The Feminine Mystique. New York: Laurel, 1983.

Friedman, David F. A Youth in Babylon : Confessions of a Trash-Film King. Buffalo: Prometheus Books, 1990.

Halberstam, David. The Fifties. New York: Fawcett Columbine, 1993.

Henry, Buck. “The Betty Boom.” Playboy December 1992: 122+.

Morris, Willie. “Women We Love: The Wild One.” Esquire August 1994: 68-9.

Schaefer, Eric. “Bold! Daring! Shocking! True!”: A History of Exploitation Films, 1919-1959. Durham: Duke University Press, 1999.

Silke, Jim. Bettie Page: Queen of Hearts. Milwaukie: Dark Horse Books, 1995.

Steinem, Gloria. Marilyn. New York: MJF Books, 1986.

Weyr, Thomas. Reaching for Paradise: The Playboy Vision of America. New York: Times Books, 1978.