Grand Challenges: Blurring Fiction and Reality

 

This post is for the January blogging carnival hosted by Doug’s Archaeology. The topic is: “What are the grand challenges facing YOUR archaeology?” 

 

I think the grandest challenge in my archeology (aside from trying to decipher my own handwriting) is figuring out where to draw the line between fiction and reality. Sometimes that also means figuring out where the line might be blurred. Delving into the historical archaeology of the commercial sex industry in North America has, for me, been nothing if not an exercise in trying to understand the gray areas.

 

In the process of writing my dissertation proposal last spring I discovered complications in some of my documentary data sets that inspired a shift in the way I thought about the project. I began to understand that Storyville was and still is as much an ongoing legend as it was a tangible place. Historian Katy Coyle said that New Orleans has “repeatedly sought to erase and exploit” the District since it closed in 1917 (quoted in Powell 2002:30). Exploitation and erasure have both vastly affected how Storyville has been researched, remembered, and presented. As a socially disgraceful tourist attraction, this was true when Storyville was open for business as well.

 

I left for my summer fieldwork armed with new questions that led to abundant documentary data, but no immediately satisfying answers. Archaeologists are used to putting together fragments and reading between the lines to create a complete picture from frequently sparse evidence, but I suddenly had the opposite problem—a fully realized picture of the past from primary and secondary sources. However, I soon came to understand that I had the enormous task of trying to muddle through a world in which fiction and reality were not clearly defined categories.

 

The first and perhaps most illustrative hint that my approach to the documentary evidence of Storyville had been naïve during preliminary research came when I stumbled upon a review of a source I had initially found very exciting: Nell Kimball’s memoirs. Kimball was supposedly a madam that worked in Storyville, later drafting her memoirs in the 1920s and 30s, which were then edited by Stephen Longstreet and published by Macmillan in 1970. The book contains a wealth of information on how women lived in brothels, including meals and daily activities…with key passages most certainly plagiarized from The French Quarter by Herbert Asbury (1936) according to an analytical review by James Wunsch in the Journal of Social History (1972). After many months of archival research in New Orleans, I personally have yet to see evidence that Kimball was anything but a character in a this curious novel.

 

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One of the important questions Wunsch raised in his review was how and why did this book succeed and fool so many people? Part of the answer he proposed was that, initially, it was largely ignored by the academic community, yet enjoyed the attention of popular publications like The New York Times Book Review. Since then, the book has occasionally resurfaced through citations in reputable academic publications that generally take Longstreet’s work at face value. The fact that several exceptional scholars have uncritically cited “Kimball” is one way that fiction and reality become blurred in the process of researching Storyville. Longstreet was clearly exploiting American historical memory for an American audience, though to what end we cannot be sure. Undoubtedly an accusation of plagiarism in the 70s fits right in with the production of Storyville as part of a sordid past. That Longstreet was paraphrasing his text from a source Wunsch considers to have some credibility further complicates matters. Are works such as the Kimball memoirs completely valueless in archaeological research, or can they tell us something about the role of fiction in the exploitation and erasure of historical memory? From my experience with the book, I’m inclined to think that they do have something to say when we look beyond the works themselves to see their impact on academic research, as well as Storyville’s memory and presentation over time.

 

 

Works Cited:

 

Asbury, Herbert. 1936. The French Quarter: An Informal History of the New Orleans Underworld. Thunder’s Mouth Press: New York, NY.

 

Powell, Eric A. 2002. Tales From Storyville. In Archaeology, 55(6): 26-31.

 

Kimball, Nell. 1970. Nell Kimball: Her Life As an American Madam, by Herself, Edited with an Introduction by Stephen Longstreet. The Macmillin Company: New York, NY.

 

Wunsch, James L. 1972. Review. Nell Kimball: Her Life As an American Madam. In Journal of Social History, 6(1): 121-126.

Grant-writing season is gearing up…

I’ve reached the point in my PhD program where the mad scramble for fieldwork funding has begun. Recently, I finished my first major grant proposal, which has finally forced me to think about what I actually plan to do with my research. Some of the glamor daze of working on an iconic site has worn off, allowing me to think more critically about what to do with it and how to go about it, and about why Storyville matters beyond a general giddy enthusiasim of “hey, this is super cool!”

In sudden flurry of productivity spurred by feeling slightly burnt out on preparing for comps, I read a big stack of published archaeological research on sexuality and the sex trade in 19th century urban America that I’ve been meaning to get to for months. I came up with two solid workable goals for my dissertation project: to gain an understanding of how brothel foodways related to change in the social landscape of New Orleans contexualized through the Jim Crow South, and to explore how the division between public and private foodways contributed to the sexualization of the New Orleans landscape.

One thing that struck me about some of the feminist archaeological research on the sex trade in the 19th century is that there seems to be an implicit conversation going on about whether or not engaging in the sex trade was empowering to women, primarily economically. This is a reflection of the contemporary argument of empowerment versus exploitation that has been prevalent in feminist discourse for some time now. In actuality, simple theoretical dichotomies such as this mask diversity and do not reflect lived experience. As archaeologists we also need to be careful of applying our contemporary assumptions and values to the past at the risk of further muddying already murky waters. Food, as a necessity of all human life, can provide important links between brothel households and the social landscape. By adopting a historical landscape approach to sexuality in New Orleans, I hope to be able to investigate diversity in brothel households through foodways and how these linked topics integrate with larger social systems, as well as reframe public and private as a spectrum of behaviors.

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About the photo:  Tom Anderson’s Arlington Annex was a saloon and restaurant located prominently in Storyville and boasted “private rooms for the fair sex” in advertisements. Brothel workers were welcome to dine at these kind of establishments. (Image from Storyville, New Orleans by Al Rose, 1978.)

Finding a Narrative

While I read for my bibliographies, I’ve been thinking a lot about what I actually want my dissertation to be about. Of course, in a broad sense, it’s about Storyville and the race-class-gender intersection ubiquitous in historical archaeology lately, but I have yet to find an actual story in the sea of theory and data I’ve considering. Two books I’ve been reading this week are The Menial Art of Cooking: Archaeological Studies of Cooking and Food Preparation, edited by Sarah R. Graff and Enrique Rodriguez-Alegria, and Playing the Whore: The Work of Sex Work, by Melissa Gira Grant. Both of these books have been engaging and inspirational, especially (oddly enough) together. In the introduction to the The Menial Art of Cooking (2012:1-18), Graff and Rodriguez-Alegria offer a brief history of why cooking has been largely absent in archaeological studies about food until recently; the short answer is that it’s assumed to be “women’s work,” which automatically reduces its relevance in the present and recently past capitalist political climate. Grant proposes the concept of the “‘prostitute imaginary’—the ways in which we conceptualize and make arguments about prostitution” (2014:4). At the end of the 19th century, when prostitution had evolved from earlier forms as a product of capitalism, the common image of a person working in the sex trade was overwhelmingly female. In essence, cooking and sex are both implicitly women’s work in popular imagination, whether or not the work was actually gender-specific in historical context.

 

I don’t know yet if there’s a narrative here, but I think that I’m starting to muddle out how to make a connection between foodways and brothel landscapes for my dissertation proposal. Deconstructing the assumptions of women’s work, asking the right initial research questions, and explicitly defining the relevance of such topics in archaeological research is a necessary and important step. Indeed, cooking and sex work are both complex social behaviors that defy a simple dichotomy like women’s/men’s work, and beg more nuanced analyses of how and why.

 

            

 

Words Cited:

 

Grant, Melissa Gira. 2012. Playing the Whore: The Work of Sex Work. Verso, New York, New York.

 

Graff, Sarah R. and Enrique Rodriguez-Alegria, eds. 2012. The Menial Art of Cooking: Archaeological Studies of Cooking and Food Preparation. The University of Colorado Press, Boulder, Colorado.