Sunday, October 25, 2009
Cruel writings
While many have been pushed away by Agee’s writing style, Agee could not have written this piece in any other way. Agee has lived with these people, he has experienced the very life they live every day, so it comes as no surprise that Agee would write without compassion for his reader. Agee knows that it would be cruel to the tenant family if the reader of his writings would simply look down on the people. Through his harsh writing style the reader begins to understand how serious these families lives are. That these people who live in poverty, who have to struggle to eat every day, that they deserve respect. These families have shown us that even under the most dire of situations one can still stand up with respect for themselves.
The Paradoxical Meaning of Art in Let us Now Praise Famous Men
When Agee begins to describe the location of the homes in relation to one another, he gives the reader a detailed account of exactly how to get to each home. Even when he describes the households of each family, he does not spare any details. The one thing Agee is truly vague about is the people with which he is living and the happenings of their everyday lives. In his attempt to realistically represent the families, he leaves the reader with passages open to interpretation. For example, when Agee begins to describe George Gudger, he begins a description and then changes his mind, finally stating that he is just a man. Throughout the novel Agee openly admits his inability to do their lives justice, and in the end the reader is left with a book full of poetic passages and imagery rather than anything that can be deemed “real.”
The book is not a documentary that relays the real lives of three tenant families, but a story that can be seen only through the eyes of an artist.
New York Times article: "Picturing the Depression

In a New York Times' Sunday Book Review, David Oshinky reviews Linda Gordon’s book Dorthea Lange: A Life Beyond Limits – a biography about the photographer who took the iconic “Migrant Mother” (above) and who worked for the Farm Security Administration along with Walker Evans. I found the article interesting, but also relevant to Let Us Now Praise Famous Men. It outlines Lange’s philosophy and approach to photographing her depression-era subjects saying, “[Lange was] an ambivalent radical, deeply sympathetic to the plight of the migrants yet uncomfortable with the chaos that social conflict inevitably produced,” and that made me wonder: is that the same philosophy Evans shared? “Lange stressed the inner emotions of those facing injustice and deprivation.” To compare, I personally don’t think Evans was concerned with expressing the inner emotions of his subjects. His photos of people – which are outnumbered by landscapes – seem to be dominated by blank stares and emotionless faces (that is, the people are neither visibly upset or happy). As Professor Irmscher showed us in class, Evans thoughtfully chose to publish the photo of Flora Merry Lee and Margaret Ricketts where they weren’t smiling for a photo. Instead, Margaret is more stoic towards the camera and her emotions cannot be easily described. In other photos, the emotions of the subjects are just as difficult to pinpoint. The families don’t look visibly happy, but that doesn’t necessarily mean they unhappy. In contrast, “Lange provided an alternative to the photography of wretchedness, which centered on the misery of beaten-down victims, as well as to the Popular Front mythology, which showed earnest, well-muscled men and women laboring together in fields and factories to produce a Soviet-style paradise on earth. Lange saw America as a worthy work in progress, incomplete and capable of better. By portraying her subjects as nobler than their current conditions, she emphasized the strength and optimism of our national character. She became, in Gordon’s words, “America’s pre-eminent photographer of democracy.”” Perhaps Evans took the approach Lange tried to avoid. He focuses on the subjects’ destitute existence - not masking their conditions, or trying to uplift them. His subjects aren’t portrayed as strong “fighters” of the Depression, but instead, people living their life “in this way.” Their wretchedness is at the center of many of his photographs and he does not emphasize strength or optimism. However – while Evans and Lange’s approach to photography differ, his purpose was not to disenfranchise these people. Evans was not looking to sugarcoat or glorify these families through his work, and maybe his photographs are more closely representative of the reality of the situation. I think there is something very powerful in reporting the truth because it puts less emphasis on Evan’s point of view or inherent bias towards purpose, and more weight on the audience’s reaction to the “truth” of his photography.
Agee, Joyce and the Epic Tradition
Comparison of styles
As Professor Irmscher’s handout of Evans’s untouched photographs, the family did not appear to be as pitifully unhappy as the ones contained within the work would lead a person to believe. Evans seems content to go against Agee’s words, “’Above all else: in God’s name don’t think of it as Art” (12). By taking the time to stage people and places for his photos, Evans is not trying to be real; he is attempting to create the mood that will satisfy his financial backers. Even within his photos, Evans takes the time to crop them into his vision.
Unlike Evans, Agee tells and experiences everything. As an example of his extreme eye for detail and completeness, reexamine the piece discussed on the blog last week or just randomly select a spot in the text relating to the families and read that. Agee’s method for telling the story of the Dustbowl families seems to center around realism, but at times, this becomes counterproductive. The immense depth of details related by Agee makes finding the important and touching bits nigh impossible. Returning to the scene of the fireplace, I find the detail given by Agee saying that “are in part by memory, in part composited out of other memory, in part improvised, but do not exceed what was there in abundance, variety, or kind” important (176). Agee’s focus on reality seems jaded when these comments are made. On one hand, his credibility becomes flawed because a reader is unclear on what is real, and on the other, a reader trusts him more for acknowledging his flaws.
I don’t really have a preference towards one method when comparing Agee and Evans, but I believe the differences are worth noting when trying to understand the work.
Blog 5
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Agee, or The Ultimate Misunderstood Artist.
Throughout reading and discussing Let Us Now Praise Famous Men, one question has kept me consistently confused: Why is Agee so down on art?
“Above all else: in God’s name don’t think of it as Art” (12). We’ve mentioned this quote many times in class, but I’m still not sure I understand his motives. If he didn’t want us to think of it as art, though, he did a good job of ignoring literary conventions, of confusing his audience, to the extent that I hardly knew how much I was supposed to read each night because the book was so poorly constructed – at least from by brainwashed, traditionalist perspective. But even this outward rebellion against art is, well, artistic.
I wonder if it’s merely a question of semantics. Despite Agee’s demands, I still consider Let Us Now Praise Famous Men to be art. Or Art, as, for some reason, Agee seems to prefer to capitalize it, which just seems to heighten its importance and thus undermine his argument, granting it the same “official acceptance” that “castrates” men such as “Swift, Blake, Beethoven, Christ,” and himself – making a martyr out of it, in a way.
But the disconnect starts to make a little more sense once we get his true feelings: “If I were going to use these lives of yours for ‘Art,’ if I were going to dab at them here, cut them short here, make some trifling improvement over here, in order to make you worthy of The Saturday Review of Literature…” (323). I think we can all agree that this isn’t how we think of art. But I realized I was being a little unfair to Agee, as I then started wondering what my own definition of art is. I even completely sold out and looked up the OED’s opinion, which essentially said that art is anything involving skill. I could get on board with that, but there’s something even more important.
“Art,” Agee writes, “as all of you would understand if you had had my advantages, has nothing to do with Life, or no more to do with it than is thoroughly convenient at a given time” (323-24). This I wholeheartedly disagree with. And I think I’ve come to discover that this is the exact antithesis of what art is to me – art is life, as corny as that sounds; something is made art only by its relation and importance to life. This book does nothing but try to capture life as purely as possible (though, as the above quote demonstrates, not completely without prejudice – but judgment, too, is a part of life), and therefore not only is art but is the epitome of it. You don’t have to necessarily like it or find it pretty, or want to put Evans’ photographs all over your mantlepiece, but it is art. Sorry, Agee.