BY C.M. MAYO — April 4, 2022 UPDATE: This blog was then entitled Madam Mayo (2006-2022).
This blog posts on Mondays. In 2022 first Mondays of the month are for Texas Books, posts in which I share with you some of the more unusual and interesting books in the Texas Bibliothek, that is, my working library. > For the archive of all Texas-related posts click here. P.S. Listen in any time to the related Marfa Mondays Podcasting Project.
The end of March 2022 marks the 16th anniversary of this blog, after which point, until further notice, I will be posting approximately two Mondays a month. The posts on Texas Books, the writing workshop, my own work, and a Q & A with another writer, will continue, each posting every other month and, as ever, when there is a fifth Monday in a given month, a newsletter.
Long before smartphone apps, before television, before electricity, yea verily, before mechanical clocks, our ancestors looked to the ever-present, ever-changing vault of the heavens. Because of light pollution however, in most towns and cities the night sky does not look the way it once did.
It so happens that the subject of my book in-progress, Far West Texas, is one of the darkest places in North America. In part this is simply because of its lack of water, and therefore low population, but it’s also thanks to “dark skies” policies and state legislation to protect it from light pollution (read more about the the whys, wherefores and history of these policies at at the website of the International Dark Skies Association). Not by happenstance, Far West Texas is also the home of one of the world’s most important astronomical observatories: the McDonald Observatory in Fort Davis. In the most remote places in Far West Texas, if you find yourself outside on a clear night, you can not only see the Milky Way; it can seem the whole sky is a blanket of stars close enough to touch.
As one born in the second half of the 20th century, it took me a long while to appreciate how shockingly much of my culture’s relationship to the sky has atrophied. I’ll have a lot to say about this in my book; but for now, in this blog post, here are some of my go-to “stars and sky” books in my working library:
Telescopes gather light— and the technology behind some of them is astounding. An astronomical telescope is, in fact, a time machine, for it allows us to see light originating thousands, millions, and more years ago. West Texas Texas Machine is but one of an ongoing river of books on this subject, but it’s a good one, and the one I happened to have bought on my first visit to the MacDonald Observatory back in 1998.
Here is a batch of sky & stars books from my working library:
If you would like read more on the subject of our relationship with sky, and on seeing it not with gee-whiz technology, but with your own eyes, I would especially recommend astronomer Thomas Hockey’s How We See the Sky: A Naked-Eye Tour of Day and Night. After reading it, I had a whole new awareness of the sun and the moon and the planets and the stars.
I welcome your courteous comments which, should you feel so moved, you can email to me here.
“Systems analysis must become cultural
analysis, and in this historians may be helpful.”– Lynn White, Jr.
Drive into Far West Texas and before you can say
“pass the Snickers” you’ll spy the railroad tracks, which more often
than not run, seemingly infinite sinuous ribbons, parallel to the highway.
Travel for a spell and you’ll pass or, if at a crossing, be passed by a freight
train, always an impressive experience. All of which is to say, railroads are
an inescapable part of Far West Texas scenery and history, and so, for my book
in-progress on that region, I have been doing my homework.
Of late: The Railway Journey: The Industrialization of Time and Space in the Nineteenth Century by Wolfgang Schivelbusch, a German historian and scholar of cultural studies. Originally published as Geschichte der Eisenbahnreise, the English translation came out in 1979; I read the 2014 edition with a new preface, “World Machines: The Steam Engine, the Railway, and the Computer,” in which Schivelbusch asks,
“Could it be that the railway, the
accelerator of the Industrial Revolution, and the computer occupy different
points along / on the same trajectory of machine evolution?”
In recent weeks, this question of machine
evolution, to my surprise, has begun to interest me intensely.
At first I had thought of this book I am writing about Far West Texas as a doppelgänger to my 2002 memoir of Mexico’s Baja California peninsula, Miraculous Air, for the ecosystems and early exploration and mission histories of these two regions have many parallels. There are indeed many parallels, however, to start with, the literature on Far West Texas is exponentially greater and– more to the point– since the time I was traveling in Baja California, the experience of traveling itself has been radically transformed by the Digital Revolution. My sense of this is a compression of time and a curious elasticity of space; of oftentimes disquieting and othertimes most welcome transparency; and that constant pull to the little screens that, so it would seem, we all feel these days, whenever, wherever.
In The Railway Journey, Schivelbusch opens
with a detailed discussion of the history of the steam engine.
“Next to wood, water and wind power were the main energy sources of pre-industrial economic life. The Industrial Revolution, generally seem as having begun in the the last third of the eighteenth century, was a complex process of denaturalization… Iron became the new industrial building material, coal the new combustible. In the steam engine, the prime mover of industry, these two combined to produce energy in theoretically unlimited amounts.”
The “decisive step” for the development
of the steam engine– and ultimately the railroads– was the introduction of
rotary motion, “a kind of mechanization of the mill race.” In other
words, transforming the up-and-down movement of the steam-driven piston
to the driving wheel.
In his new 2014 preface, however, Schivelbusch
writes: “It took me forty years and the Digital Revolution to realize that
I had missed the more important point of the invention preceding it.” In
other words, the technological Crossing of the Rubicon, as it were, was
“placing a piston in a cylinder and applying the pressure of steam… [I]t
did not transfer an existing form but forced a new form of power out of
combustible matter.” Moreover, “the piston’s up-and-down movement
was no longer the analogue of any form of movement found in nature but
possessed a binary-digital logic all its own.”
Watch a demonstration of a piston (in this
example, powered by an electric motor):
Most histories of the computer’s binary-digital
logic that I am familiar with focus on English mathematician George Boole’s An
Investigation into the Laws of Thought (1854)– the concept of binary
logic. Schivelbusch’s is a wondrously powerful insight.
THE MACHINE ENSEMBLE
In his second chapter, “The Machine
Ensemble,” Schivelbusch explores the ways the development of the railways
was experienced as “denaturalization and densensualization.” With
cuttings, embankments, and tunnels”the railroad was constructed straight
across the terrain, as if drawn with a ruler.” Now “the traveler
perceived the landscape as it was filtered through the machine ensemble.”
And what is the machine ensemble? “[W]heel
and rail, railroad and carriage, expanded into a unified railway system… one
great machine covering the land.”
RAILROAD SPACE
With the railroad, argues Schivelbusch,
“space was both diminished and expanded.” Things moved across space
faster, and simultaneously, more space could be accessed. “What was
experienced as being annihilated was the traditional space-time coninuum which
characterized the old transport technology.”
Schivelbusch quotes the German poet Heinrich
Heine, writing in 1843:
“What changes must now occur, in our way of looking at things, in our notions! Even the elementary concepts of time and space have begun to vacillate. Space is killed by the railways, and we are left with time lone… Now you can travel to Orléans in four and a half hours, and it takes no longer to get to Rouen. Just imagine what will happen when the lines to Belgium and Germany are completed and connected up with their railways! I feel as if the mountains and forests of all countries were advancing on Paris. Even now, I can smell the linden trees; the North Sea’s breakers are rolling against my door.”
Sniffed Victorian-era English art critic John
Ruskin:
“Modern traveling is not traveling at all; it is merely being sent to a place, and very little different from being a parcel.”
(I quail to imagine what might have been Ruskin’s
reaction to a TSA line. We airline travelers have been demoted from parcel to
cattle…)
PANORAMIC TRAVEL
For me, having spent so many hours driving
through the vast spaces of Far West Texas, the fourth chapter, “Panoramic
Travel,” was the most engaging. The opening epigraph is from Emerson’s Journals:
“Dreamlike traveling on the railroad.” In a car, as in a railway
compartment, we are enclosed from the weather behind windows, and by a roof and
a floor. We rest our bodies in an upholstered seat. Beyond the window, things
sail by silently, inexorably, scentlessly: hills, fences, a gas station– it
becomes a blur.
Travel by railroad induced “panoramic
perception.” Schivelbusch:
“Panoramic perception, in contrast to traditional perception, no longer belonged to the same space as the perceived objects: the traveler saw the objects, landscapes, etc. through the apparatus which moved him through the world. That machine and the motion it created became integrated into his viual perception: thus he could only see things in motion. That mobility of vision– for a traditionally oriented sensorium, such as Ruskin’s– became a prerequisite for the ‘normality’ of panoramic vision. This vision no longe experiences evanescence: evanescent reality had become the new reality.” (p.64)
Because this can be deadly boring, and
necesitated being in close quarters with fellow travelers of, shall we say,
possibly inconvenient social connections, bougeois train travelers took up
reading. Schivelbusch:
“Reading while traveling became almost obligatory.The dissolution of reality and its resurrection as panorama thus became agents for the total emancipation from the traversed landscape: the traveler’s gaze could then move into an imaginary surrogate landscape, that of his book.” (p. 64)*
But back to computers. I am beginning, with
fraying patience, to think of ours as the Age of Phubbing Smombies. To walk the
aisle of a railway passenger car or an airplane is to catch the soundless
glow of dozens of little screens… the overwhelming majority not of text but
of flashing images of murders, faces, scantily clad women, roaring dinosaurs,
cars and other objects hurling off cliffs (what is it with all the cliffs?)..
and cartoons of the same… In sum, a mesmerizing mishmash of imagery.
AMERICAN VS EUROPEAN RAILROADS
In the 19th century the “great machine”
of the railway ensemble spread across the land in both Europe and the
North American continent, but, as Schivelbusch details, there were fundamental
differences in the pattern and nature of that machine. Europe was already
densely populated and richly networked by highways and roads; “in America,
the railroad served to open up, for the first time, vast regions of previously
unsettled winderness.”* In other words, to quote Schivelbusch quoting von
Weber, “In Europe, the railroad facilitates traffic; in
America, it creates it.”
*Quibble: Important regions of America’s interior were not in fact a wholly “unsettled wilderness” until after the cascading demographic collapses, and later Indian removals, and the Indian Wars. There were well-established trails and trade routes throughout the continent, many going back many hundreds of years. But yes, compared to Europe, the road networks in Amreica were thin and poor and the vast desert expanses and the Great Plains were terrible to traverse by horse-drawn vehicles, as many memoirs attest.
And while Europe’s industrial revolution focused
on manufacturing, primarily textiles, in America it was about agriculture
(cotton, tobacco) and transport. In the early 19th century, what American
industry had in the way of machines was, writes Schivelbusch, “river
steamboats, railroad trains, sawmills, harvesting combines.”
By the 19th century the string of older cities of
the North Atlantic coast– Boston down to Washington DC– were linked by
well-established highways, however, the rest of the continent had more
primitive roads, oftentimes what amounted to footpaths and, above all,
waterways: The Mississippi, the Missouri, the Ohio, the Hudson, various canals,
and the Great Lakes. “Thus passenger travel used these waterways in the
absence of highways… One traveled by water whenever possible.”
Unsurprisingly, the American railway compartment
took on the distinctive character of the American riverboat cabin. These tended
to be broad open rooms, more comfortable for traveling long distances. European
railroad compartments took their template from the stagecoach, a cozier space.
Schivelbuch argues that in American culture the
railroad was closely linked with the steamer both because it was these were the
first and second mechanized means of transportation and because so much of the
interior landcape– the Great Plains–was described by travelers as kind of
vast ocean. (Indeed it was, in an eon past, the bottom of an ocean.)
The path of the railroad tracks differed as well:
American tracks tended to curve where European tracks would be straight. As
Schivelbusch points out, this reflected differences in labor and land costs. In
America, land was cheap and labor expensive. In Europe then “it paid to
construct tunnels, embankments and cuttings in order to make the rails proceed
in a straight line, at a minimum of land cost.”
Ah, so that explains the sinuosity of those Far
West Texas rails.
INDUSTRIALIZED CONSCIOUSNESS
“new consciousness of time and space based on train schedules and the novel activity of reading while traveling” (p.160)
Re: The reconsideration of the concept of shock
in the 19th century. Schivelbusch:
“The railroad related to the coach and horses as the modern mass army relates to the medieval army of knights (and as manufacture and industry do to craftmanship.)” (p.159)
Re: A “sinister aspect”.
Schivelbusch:
“…it had become possible to travel in something that seemed like an enormous grenade.” (p.160)
“The train passenger of the later nineteenth century who sat reading his book thus had a thicker layer of that skin than the earlier traveler, who coud not even think about reading because the journey still was, for him, a space-time adventure that engaged his entire sensorium.” (p.165)
(Thicker layer of skin!! Just turn on TV news!!
The commercials!! In our day, we’ve all grown callouses on top of rhino hide.)
HAUSSMANN’S REDO OF PARIS AND A NEW CONSCIOUSNESS FOR A NEW CITYSCAPE
Schivelbusch covers Haussmann’s remodeling of
Paris in detail in chapter 12, “Tracks in the City.”
“The streets Haussmann created served only traffic, a fact that distinguished them from the medieval streets an lanes that they destroyed, whose function was not so much to serve traffic as to be a forum for neighborhood life; it also distinguihsed them from the boulevards and avenues of the Baroque, who linearity and width was designed more for pomp and ceremony han for mere traffic.” (p. 183)
“The broad, tree-lined streets were seen as providers of light and air, creating sanitary conditions in both a physiological and a political sense– the latter favorable to the rule of Napoleon III.” (p. 186)
MORE ABOUT PANORAMIC PERCEPTION
The final chapter, “Circulation,” looks
at the consequences of the changes in transportation for retail, specifically,
the development of department stores.
“As Haussmann’s traffic arteries were connected to the rail network by means of the railway stations,and thus to all traffic in its entirety, the new department stores, in turn, were connected to the new intra-urban arteries and their traffic. The Grands Magasins that arose during the second half of the nineteenth century were concentrated on the boulevards that supplied them with goods and customers.” (p.188)
While traveling on the train put an end to
conversation, so the department store put an end to haggling, for now there
were price tags.
Department stores encouraged panoramic
perception.
“There had to be noise, commotion, life everywhere… The customer was kept in motion; he traveled through the department store as a train passenger traveled through the landscape. In their totality, the goods impressed him as an ensemble of objects and price tags fused into a pointillistic overall view…”(p. 191)
The sources of parnoramic perception were at once
speed and “the commodity character of objects.”(p. 193)
THE CIRCULATION CONCEPT IN THE 19th CENTURY
“… whatever was part of circulation was regarded as healthy, progressive, constructive; all that was detached from circulation, on the other hand, appeared diseased, medieval, subversive, threatening.” (p. 195)
CIAO, GRAND TOUR
Re: The Grand Tour, “an essential part of
… education before the industrialization of travel.” The world was
experienced in its original spatio-temporality… His education consisted of
his assimilation of the spatial individuality of the places visited, by means
of an effort that was both physical and intellectual” (p. 197)
(At this thought, of the industrialization of
travel, I had an evil little chuckle recalling Mrs Pofrock in Henry James’ The
Ambassadors.)
So:
“The railroad, the destroyer of experiential space and time, thus also destroyed the educational experience of the Grand Tour… the places visited by the traveler became increasingly similar to the commodities that were part of the same circulation system. For the twentieth-century tourist, the world has become one huge department store of countrysides and cities” (p. 197)
I would venture that a more apt analogy would now
be “menu of venues for digitally realized self-presentation” —
translation from the Noodathipious Flooflemoofle: “selfies.” I hear
most everyone shops online these days.
#
FURTHER TIDBITTY THOUGHTOID
A curious analogy occured to me, that just as the
automobile allowed for more agency for a traveler vis-a-vis the railroad, so
the tablets and smartphones allow more agency than the television for the
consumer of entertainment.