I’m studying American Literature in my last semester of college, and right now I’m in the middle of writing a paper about Kate Chopin, an unsung literary pioneer of the late 19th century. Her first (and only published) novel so inflamed the social order that her publisher reneged on his agreement to accept more of her work. What did she write about that was so revolutionary, you ask? Feminism. She dared to explore infidelity, sexual longing, and budding individualism in a gender that society demanded be married before age twenty and procreate as a main occupation. Although highly readable and immensely popular among those with a larger world view, the powers that be found her work blasphemous and her outlook detrimental to the societal conscience. Added to all that, for a white woman to write about blacks in a way that depicted them as human beings with richly textured lives and loves was beyond the pale. In a different place and time, she might have been burned at the stake.
Reading about Kate Chopin, Edith Wharton, and other writers of the era made me long for some of the social interaction that filled their lives. Without television, cell phones, the Internet, and everything else technology has enriched our lives with, Americans at the turn of the century had only themselves, the newspaper, and each other to count on for information and entertainment. A financially comfortable person of that time would hold gatherings at home known as ‘salons’ wherein friends and notable visitors to their city would drop by and discuss . . . thoughts. Wow, what a concept. No baseball game on in the background, no barbecuing of animal parts while guzzling brewskis, no youngsters whining with boredom; just adults sipping brandy and sharing viewpoints about matters of the day. To you this salon thing might sound dull, but I for one would love to be somewhere, sometime, where no one is saying the words Dancing With The Stars. If I could also be certain I wouldn’t see a butt crack tattoo or listen to someone shout “Can you hear me?” into a piece of plastic, it might even be worth having to wear a corset.
I mentioned this to Husband and his response was, “So have a salon. Host an open house for everyone we know to share their opinions and ideas.” To do it right, of course, I’d have to hand deliver tasteful engraved cards that read, You are invited to an evening of lively conversation and conviviality, accompanied by subtle music, tasty morsels, and uplifting libation. Jeans, children, and pets to be left in the care of others. On my list of invitees, I would include Son and his breezy banter, and Daughter with her edgy urban artist friends. I would forbid anyone to use the word ‘ridonculous’ to describe anything, but I would secretly laugh if they did.
I asked Husband what he would talk about at my salon. He said the growing economic power of the BRIC – Brazil, Russia, India and China. I told him I would be steering things more toward education and fashion, but maybe he could have a sub-salon of his own on global finance, as long as it didn’t push things away from elegant hors d’oeuvres toward buffalo wings. He said he’d be wearing a vest, so I guess it’d be okay.
Daughter’s Fotos peek in at Comic Con 2010 at New York’s Javitz Center
