Visiting Aunt Jones.
Our take
In David S. Reynolds’ NYRB review of David Anthony's "Sensationalism and the Jew in Antebellum American Literature," dated February 22, 2024, the author meticulously dissects the troubling depictions of Jews in American culture prior to the Civil War. Reynolds unveils a series of repellent portrayals that reveal deep-seated biases, challenging readers to confront the uncomfortable truths embedded in historical narratives.
In the swirling miasma of American literary history, the shadows cast by prejudice can often obscure the brilliance of genuine expression. David S. Reynolds’ review of David Anthony’s *Sensationalism and the Jew in Antebellum American Literature* offers a stark reminder of this. Reynolds delves into the “repellent instances of hostile portraits of Jews” that proliferated in 19th-century American culture, illuminating how these narratives served as a lens for examining broader societal attitudes. The review doesn’t just recount history; it forces us to grapple with the uncomfortable truths lurking beneath the surface of our literary canon. This is a necessary reckoning, especially in an era where the echoes of past prejudices still resonate in contemporary dialogues about race, identity, and representation.
Reynolds highlights the notion that 19th-century America was a landscape rich with sentimentality, yet also rife with contradictions and complexities. The passage he cites raises questions about the cultural fabric of the time, suggesting that even as authors like Hawthorne and Poe rebelled against the era’s mawkishness, they were also steeped in it—contributing to a narrative that often sidelined marginalized voices. This tension between the sentimental and the sensational is a vital thread in understanding how literature reflects societal values and injustices. It resonates with discussions found in our own articles, such as “What Happened to Jesus’ Twelve Disciples After the Bible—It Wasn’t Pretty” and “The only way to really learn a language is by living in a country where they speak it”, which explore the complexities of storytelling and cultural narratives and their enduring impact on our identities.
The significance of Reynolds’ analysis lies in its invitation to interrogate the narratives we’ve inherited. Why do certain stories endure, while others are tucked away in the recesses of our collective memory? The hostile portrayals of Jews and other marginalized groups in antebellum literature are not merely historical artifacts; they are reflections of ongoing societal biases that continue to shape contemporary discourse. In a world where sensationalism often drowns out nuance, revisiting these narratives challenges us to confront our own assumptions and biases. It asks us to consider how literature can perpetuate harm, but also how it can serve as a vessel for empathy and understanding.
As we navigate this intricate web of literary history, we must remain vigilant. The uncomfortable truths unearthed by Reynolds and Anthony compel us to ask: How do we ensure that our cultural narratives evolve, rather than stagnate in cycles of prejudice? The challenge lies not just in recognizing the shadows of the past, but in illuminating the paths forward. For readers, this means engaging with literature that pushes boundaries, that dares to reflect the complexities of the human experience, and that invites us to question our own narratives. As we look to the future, the question remains: what stories will we choose to tell and amplify, and how will they shape the world we inhabit? The answers lie not just in the pages of history, but in the choices we make today.
David S. Reynolds’ NYRB review (February 22, 2024; archived) of Sensationalism and the Jew in Antebellum American Literature by David Anthony provides repellent instances of “hostile portraits of Jews in various realms of US culture during the two decades before the Civil War,” but I’m bringing it here for this passage:
It has been said that nineteenth-century America was mawkishly sentimental—a culture of pap and prudery against which serious authors like Hawthorne, Herman Melville, Edgar Allan Poe, and Walt Whitman rebelled. To some extent this was true, as evidenced by the era’s didactic novels, religious tracts, and codes of proper decorum. It was an age when Evangeline St. Clare, the angelic heroine of Harriet Beecher Stowe’s best seller Uncle Tom’s Cabin, inspired millions, and when, in polite circles, undergarments were called “unmentionables,” legs “limbs,” men’s trousers “continuations,” and a trip to the bathroom “visiting Aunt Jones.”
We all know about “unmentionables” and “limbs,” and the OED confirms that use of “continuations” (though it doesn’t sound much like a euphemism: “Gaiters continuous with ‘shorts’ or knee-breeches, as worn by bishops, deans, etc. Hence in later slang, trousers, as a continuation of the waistcoat”; 1883 citation “For fear of spilling it over what a tailor would call my continuations”), but I can find nothing to back up the claim about “visiting Aunt Jones” except the footnoted source for the assertion, R.W. Holder’s How Not to Say What You Mean: A Dictionary of Euphemisms (Oxford University Press, 2007). The relevant entry in that volume reads
aunt² a lavatory
To whom many women say they are paying a
visit. In Victorian days it was their Aunt Jones.
Which sounds more like the notoriously chatty and unreliable Eric Partridge than a dependable reference work, and I can find no examples of this alleged usage in Google Books. Is anyone familiar with it?
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