Minor Epiphanies 1.4
On “making no compromise with the public taste”
Recently, I visited a humanities research hub: the Harry Ransom Center. In other words, it's a dream come true for someone like me. Their literary and arts collection is massive, and the insightfully curated exhibits never disappoint. Their current exhibit is titled “Women and the Making of Joyce’s Ulysses” to celebrate 100 years of the novel’s publication and the women who helped with the process.
The entire exhibit was a good reminder that a work is never created by one person in a vacuum. The folks surrounding and supporting creators are instrumental, and as the exhibit illustrates, James Joyce was surrounded by some pretty phenomenal ladies. His mother, aunt, and wife played major roles in his life, and so did Harriet Weaver (she was a major patron of Joyce), Sylvia Beach, Margaret Anderson, and Jane Heap. The last three women made it possible for Joyce’s work to see the light of day via publication.
For context, Ulysses was considered both difficult and groundbreaking at the time, and it seems to have a similar view today. I’ve only read a couple chapters myself, but many of the books I love (hello, Mrs. Dalloway) were influenced by it because Ulysses “change[d] the novel by shattering the idea that art must answer to any law other than its own” (Casale and Latham).
Before Beach published the novel in its entirety, Anderson and Heap published it serially in The Little Review. The literary magazine was founded in 1914 and remained in publication for fifteen years. By June 1917, the journal added a new slogan: “Making No Compromise With the Public Taste.” The slogan says a lot about the journal, and it says a lot about Anderson and Heap.
First, publishing a work like Ulysses was risky because the prose and content pushed major boundaries. Case in point, thanks to Joyce’s infamous “Nausicaa” chapter, Anderson and Heap became embroiled in an obscenity trial. Besides publishing these chapters, as well as other boundary-pushing Modernist literature, they also made no compromises by publishing content that was feminist and even anarchist.
In their personal lives, Anderson and Heap didn’t subscribe to expectations either. Both were queer, and Heap ignored the style of the time. On the day she was fingerprinted and charged for printing Ulysses’ “Nausicaa” chapter, she had “close-cropped hair, sporting a man’s jacket over a broad black skirt, a black bow tie, and deep scarlet lipstick” (Lapin). This “bucking of norms” — in order to be authentic both in publication and in person — is refreshing and inspiring today, let alone 100 years ago.
Since reading The Little Review’s slogan, I’ve been asking myself how to define today’s public taste, and I’m inclined to say that it could be summarized in one word: “trauma.” When I look at “Calls for Submission” in both print and online publications, many of them ask for a story about trauma or hardship. Personal essays, short stories, and even podcast episodes are often preceded by trigger warnings, and this doesn’t begin to cover the content we consume visually on TV (hi, Euphoria and Keep Sweet: Pray, and Obey) and social media.
And really, is this focus on traumatic content any surprise? We’re still navigating a pandemic and grappling with a host of injustices that continue to exist on this continent and abroad. I’m editing this newsletter in a post-Roe vs. Wade America — and while I appreciate vintage photographs from the 1920s, I don’t appreciate vintage rights that will impact so many people. In other words, trauma isn’t in shortage, so it’s bound to influence what we watch, listen to, and read.
Of course, experiencing trauma and creating content around it isn’t new. Plus, storytelling and giving shape to experiences can be so healing and informative and a form of activism. Therefore, I’m not suggesting we only write about the clouds and flowers and eliminate all trauma talk — not at all. I’m simply suggesting we also leave space for joy and wonder.
After all, I think another type of healing balm comes from joy and laughter and taking stock of the small things that make us smile. Even during times of immense grief, I found solace in the early-morning hoot of an owl and laughing at the delightful “Shiny” song from Moana. I didn’t necessarily search for escape from my grief, but I allowed these joyful moments to arrive, adding to the kaleidoscope of emotions.
Overall, I think we can make space for both trauma and joy, and therefore, we can make a slight compromise with today’s public taste.
Things that are bringing me joy during this tumultuous time:
Bubble tea.
This TikTok video about voice notes. Sharing long voice notes, infused with humour and existential dread, can be the best healing balm.
Paint by number. This seller’s kits look really cool.
Spending time with my dog. Animals are the best of us.
What’s bringing you joy right now?
Dairy free mochi is bringing me a great bit of joy atm. 🥰