Monday, July 22, 2024

David Grundy's "Never By Itself Alone"

David Grundy is the author of A Black Arts Poetry Machine: Amiri Baraka and the Umbra Poets (2019), and co-editor with Lauri Scheyer of Selected Poems of Calvin C. Hernton (2023). Formerly a Teaching Associate at the University of Cambridge and a British Academy Fellow at the University of Warwick, he is currently an Alexander von Humboldt Fellow at Freie Universität Berlin.

Grundy applied the "Page 99 Test" to his new book, Never By Itself Alone: Queer Poetry, Queer Communities in Boston and the Bay Area, 1944―Present, and reported the following:
Page 99 is the third page of the book’s third chapter, on the so-called “Occult School” of Boston poets. The page is a profile of the poet Ed Marshall, described there as “poet, street preacher and denizen of the queer underworld”. It introduces Marshall and provides a brief introductory biography. This page of the book is a good example of the archival approach I draw on throughout. It focuses on an object from the archives of the publisher Irving Rosenthal: a small mirror that Marshall affixed to his shoe to assess the sexual prospects within adjacent cubicles while cruising men’s rooms. I suggest that the archival mirror (literally) reveals to the scholar their own face as (metaphorically) the object of Marshall’s own enquiry, cruised out of time. I also draw on the figure of the ‘glory hole’ in Marshall’s work to suggest the contradictions it turns into something furtive and pleasurable: cruising and the necessity to move on versus the impulse to stay, watch, and enjoy anonymised sensual delight, a sociality under pressure, taking place underground and in the cracks of society and of literary history.

For the poets in this book, such questions—sex life, the inhabitation of public space—could not be separated from their poetry, whether it was their poems’ explicit subject or not. But the record is fragmentary. Amassing details around the dozens of poets covered in this story, many of whom have received scant, if any, prior attention, involves telling stories, uncovering archives, working the way through trails of anecdote and evidence, sometimes within poems, sometimes outside them.

The term “Occult School” comes from poet Gerrit Lansing, describing a group of poets—one of many such in the book—who formed provisional, small and temporary communities united by poetry and queer sexuality. Lansing, a student of Aleister Crowley and other esoteric thinkers, uses the term to pun on way such poets are left out—occluded—from conventional literary histories. With no one there to preserve one’s stories, how do they survive? In the shadows, obscurely, in the poetic, political underground. With the explosion of political movements in the ’60s—Civil Rights, Black Power, Women’s and Gay Liberation—the underground came out and above ground. Yet the devastating impact of AIDS created a loss of generational memory, effectively wiping out of prior generations of activists and artists. Today, as a new New Right resurges throughout the USA and worldwide, it’s helpful to remember the way generations of queer poets and activists resisted the forces that would slur, jail, queerbash and electroshock them into silence. Ed Marshall is just one of those voices.
Learn more about Never By Itself Alone at the Oxford University Press website.

--Marshal Zeringue

Sunday, July 21, 2024

Michael D. Hattem's "The Memory of '76"

Michael D. Hattem is a historian of early America and author of Past and Prologue: Politics and Memory in the American Revolution. He is the associate director of the Yale–New Haven Teachers Institute.

Hattem applied the "Page 99 Test" to his new book, The Memory of '76: The Revolution in American History, and reported the following:
Page 99 of The Memory of '76 is part of the introduction to Part III, which explores attempts to nationalize the memory of the Revolution after the Civil War. I don't know if the page reveals "the quality of the whole" book, but it actually does address a critical turning point in the story of the book. On this page, I describe how popular understandings of the Declaration of Independence, particularly the idea of "liberty" that it promised, underwent a dramatic shift in the half century after the Civil War. In part because of the end of slavery and the context of the Gilded Age, the liberty of the Declaration increasingly came to be seen as "individual liberty" rather than liberty as a feature of the society as a whole (as had been more common before the Civil War). Defined in no small part by freedom from government, any attempts to achieve equality came to be seen by some Americans as infringements of the individual liberty guaranteed in the Declaration of Independence.

I also cannot say whether reading page 99 will give readers a good or poor idea of the book. It does cover a crucial thread that runs throughout the book and is important for understanding the origins of the modern conservative memory of the Revolution that came about in the early years of the Cold War. But it also not representative of the book as a whole because much of the rest of it is more narrative-driven than this specific section.

The points made on page 99 setup my reinterpretation of the significance of the Gettysburg Address on the following page. There, I argue against Garry Wills's claim that the Gettysburg Address created a "concept of a single people dedicated to a proposition" that fundamentally changed the nation. Instead, I argue that by highlighting liberty and equality as the two fundamental principles of the Declaration and the Revolution as a whole, Lincoln actually helped lay the foundation for the conflicts over the meaning of the Revolution in the twentieth century. In the years after the Civil War, those two principles, which Lincoln thought were mutually reinforcing, would come to be seen by many Americans as antagonistic and irreconcilable.
Visit Michael D. Hattem's website.

The Page 99 Test: Past and Prologue.

--Marshal Zeringue

Saturday, July 20, 2024

Frances Kolb Turnbell's "Spanish Louisiana"

Frances Kolb Turnbell teaches history at the University of North Alabama and is editor of the Tennessee Historical Quarterly.

She applied the "Page 99 Test" to her new book, Spanish Louisiana: Contest for Borderlands, 1763–1803, and reported the following:
If you open my book to page 99, you will find yourself at the very beginning of Chapter 4: Louisiana in the American Revolution. The Page 99 Test works fairly well with my book. Chapter 4 opens in August of 1779 with acting governor Bernardo de Galvez receiving news of his appointment as governor of Louisiana and news of Spain's declaration of war against Great Britain, which signaled Spain's entry into the larger conflict of the American Revolution. This is actually a pivotal moment in the book because it is the most important moment in which Spain tests the loyalty of Louisiana's inhabitants. The first three chapters lead up to Spain's declaration of war against Britain and offer the looming question of whether Louisiana's colonists and Indian allies will be loyal when it really matters for Spain. The answer is a resounding yes, which is the argument of Chapter 4: "During the American Revolution, the interests of Spain overlapped most closely with those of the borderland population"(99). The fallout of the American Revolution on the Gulf Coast influences Louisiana history for the rest of the Spanish period.

Page 99 also highlights a good deal of what Bernardo de Galvez has done on behalf of Spain in Louisiana to prepare for war, including to build up its diverse militia, which was multilingual, multi-ethnic, and included both white and free black colonists.

Louisiana was a crazy place with all sorts of people moving about in it in the decades following the Seven Years War, a space that saw the arrival of new colonists including Acadians, Canary Islanders, British merchants, among others, as well as a growing number of enslaved people from Africa and the Caribbean especially. Additionally, the smaller Indian nations of the Gulf Coast migrated a good deal in this season and competed with Indians and colonists already in Louisiana for land and resources.​ Spain had a big project to try to navigate the various factions and interest groups operating in the post 1763 Mississippi Valley especially when many individuals and groups found it in their own interests to pursue survival, profit, and personal gain through networks and practices that defied Spanish policy.

Ultimately, the book offers the first stab at a comprehensive history of Spanish Louisiana, 1763 to 1803, an underappreciated time a place. It was both an era of transition and tumult—every chapter of the book includes some sort of revolt or rebellion except for Chapter 2. In such a space, it is no wonder that the inhabitants felt uneasy about the future of their imperial belonging and even tried to effect it from time to time. During the American Revolution, they held on tightly to the Spanish Empire.
Learn more about Spanish Louisiana at the LSU Press website.

--Marshal Zeringue

Friday, July 19, 2024

Rena Steinzor's "American Apocalypse"

Rena Steinzor is Edward M. Robertson Professor of Law at University of Maryland Carey Law School. She is the author of Why Not Jail? (2014), The People's Agents and the Battle to Protect the American Public (2010), and Mother Earth and Uncle Sam. She is a former president of the Center for Progressive Reform.

Steinzor applied the "Page 99 Test" to her new book, American Apocalypse: The Six Far-Right Groups Waging War on Democracy, and reported the following:
Page 99 of my book focuses on a disastrous Supreme Court decision, West Virginia v. EPA, that choke-chained the EPA’s ability to combat climate change by requiring fossil fuel-burning industries to reduce their emissions of greenhouse gases. This approach is known as mitigating the disruption of the climate. We will face dire consequences no matter what we do, but mitigation is essential to avoid catastrophic outcomes. Conservatives tout adaptation as an alternative, meaning taking measures like air conditioning and building sea walls to combat climate disruption. Adaptation will play some role, but no credible scientist thinks it will be nearly enough.

The Court’s conservative supermajority in the West Virginia case said that even though the electric utility industry supported the Obama Administration’s mitigation rule because it gave companies flexible options, the Obama rule was illegal because it cost too much and was not specifically authorized by Congress. The Trump Administration had a rule that was much weaker and it complied with the Court’s opinion, although it never went into effect because President Biden won the 2020 election. Under West Virginia, the EPA’s efforts to require mitigation from the dirtiest sources are very narrow.

I am relieved to say that page 99 of my book passes the “good idea of the whole work” test. How the six far-right groups—big business, the Tea Party, the Federalist Society, Fox News, white evangelicals, and armed militia—have thwarted efforts to mitigate these existential problems are the book’s core.

For example, fossil fuel industries and their corporate customers have spent billions to undermine all efforts to regulate their contributions to climate change, assisted by another Supreme Court case, Citizens United v. Federal Election Commission, that gave corporations First Amendment rights to political speech, lifting the lid on campaign contributions. White evangelicals believe that climate change is the End of Days or the Rapture when non-believers will be eliminated and Christ will return to the earth. Armed militia demonstrated on the lawns of top public health officials, frightening them so badly that they resigned. The next pandemic will find us as unprepared as we were for the last one.

While the six groups do not coordinate their attacks and may even diverge on short-term agendas, their priorities land on a surprisingly tight bullseye: the size and authority of expert agencies like the EPA. Over the long-term, as the prevalence of global pandemics and climate crises increase, an incapacitated national government could usher in unimaginable harm.
Learn more about American Apocalypse at the Stanford University Press website.

--Marshal Zeringue

Thursday, July 18, 2024

James Graham Wilson's "America's Cold Warrior"

James Graham Wilson is a Historian at the US Department of State.

He applied the "Page 99 Test" to his new book, America's Cold Warrior: Paul Nitze and National Security from Roosevelt to Reagan, and reported the following:
Page 99 of my book describes Paul Nitze’s takeaway from his work on the 1957 report “Deterrence and Survival in the Nuclear Age” (the Gaither Report), and a meeting with President Dwight Eisenhower and Secretary of State John Foster Dulles in which Nitze failed to persuade them to take drastic action.

Should you read only page 99 of this book, I think you would get a good sense of what mattered to Paul Nitze. He believed in superior U.S. military capabilities to deter foreign attacks, and that nothing was so provocative to the Soviet Union as U.S. weakness. And he did not hesitate to tell anyone that they were wrong.

There is a quote on page 99 that sums up Nitze’s personality and his approach to individuals—however powerful—who did not accept his logic. After he met with Dwight Eisenhower and John Foster Dulles, Nitze wrote Dulles a letter that concluded: “Finally, assuming that the immediate crisis is surmounted, I should ask you to consider, in the light of events of recent years, whether there is not some other prominent Republican disposed to exercise the responsibility of the office of Secretary of State in seeking a balance between our capabilities and our unavoidable commitments, equipped to form persuasive policies, and able to secure the confidence and understanding of our allies, whether by direct communication or communication through emissaries.” If Dulles ever responded to that, I have yet to find it.

Dulles and Nitze had never liked each other. Yet—up until 1957—Dulles sought Nitze’s counsel. Why was that? More broadly, how did Nitze command the attention of American presidents and their advisors from the start of the Cold War to its end? This is a fundamental question that I wrestle with in the book. And, when it comes to arriving at an answer, page 99 alone will not suffice.
Learn more about America's Cold Warrior at the Cornell University Press website.

--Marshal Zeringue

Wednesday, July 17, 2024

Michael Lobel's "Van Gogh and the End of Nature"

Michael Lobel is Professor of Art History at Hunter College and the Graduate Center, CUNY. He holds a BA in Studio Art from Wesleyan University and an MA and PhD in History of Art from Yale University. He is the author of Image Duplicator: Roy Lichtenstein and the Emergence of Pop Art (2002) and James Rosenquist: Pop Art, Politics and History in the 1960s (2009). His third book, John Sloan: Drawing on Illustration, was awarded the Smithsonian American Art Museum’s Charles C. Eldredge Prize for Distinguished Scholarship in American Art.

Lobel applied the "Page 99 Test" to his latest book, Van Gogh and the End of Nature, and reported the following:
Much of page 99 of Van Gogh and the End of Nature is taken up by a large-scale reproduction of a single work of art: a painting entitled Gauguin’s Chair, which Vincent van Gogh created in the autumn of 1888. The picture, rendered largely in tones of green, purple, and reddish-brown, depicts an elaborate wooden chair; on its seat are perched a lit candle and a couple of books, perhaps popular novels of the day. The long span of green wall at back is punctuated by a gas wall sconce. The several lines of text on the page read as follows:
And to Theo, whom he was constantly hitting up for funds, [Vincent] argued that the expense would pay for itself, since it would give the two artists that much more time to make paintings: “If Gauguin and I work every evening for a fortnight, won’t we earn it all back again?” This is why classifying this span of months as Van Gogh’s gaslight period makes so much sense. It touches on pictorial, practical, personal, and professional matters, all rolled into one.
As it turns out, someone who opened the text to page 99 would get a good sense of the book, for a number of reasons. For one, the large-scale, full color reproduction of a painting signals to the reader the importance of images, and close visual analysis, to the project as a whole. Additionally, even though the page includes just a few lines of text, that passage highlights one of the main takeaways in this particular chapter: that gaslight was a central preoccupation for Van Gogh, particularly during his time in Arles, in the south of France. And this then dovetails with one of the broader aims of the book, which is to connect Van Gogh and his artistic preoccupations to the industrial era in which he lived and worked (gaslight was powered by coal gas, hence underscoring the artist’s involvement in the burgeoning age of fossil fuels). While Van Gogh’s depictions of the natural world have tended to shape how we think about him, Van Gogh and the End of Nature shows that a closer look reveals how industry and pollution were present in his world, and in his work, in many different and varied ways.
Learn more about Van Gogh and the End of Nature at the Yale University Press website.

--Marshal Zeringue

Tuesday, July 16, 2024

Andrew Denning's "Automotive Empire"

Andrew Denning is Associate Professor in the Department of History at the University of Kansas. He is author of Skiing into Modernity and coeditor of The Interwar World. His work has also appeared in The Journal of Modern History, American Historical Review, Technology and Culture, and Environmental History.

Denning applied the "Page 99 Test" to his new book, Automotive Empire: How Cars and Roads Fueled European Colonialism in Africa, and reported the following:
Page 99 of Automotive Empire describes the changing nature of French automotive manufacturing in the decade before World War I and during the war itself. It focuses on the now-famous figures of André Citroën and Louis Renault, two manufacturers who spearheaded a revolution in French production away from bespoke, luxury vehicles and toward Fordist mass production that would bear fruit after World War I. Page 99 also begins to tell the story of Adolphe Kégresse, a French engineer who experimented with mounting cars on tank-like tracks to grapple with difficult terrain such as loose sand and heavy snow. The result was Citroën’s autochenille (caterpillar), a vehicle that Citroën was convinced could solve the challenge of the Sahara, which divided France’s North African territories (Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia) from the massive federation of French West Africa, then comprised of eight colonies.

The Page 99 Test doesn’t give the best sense of Automotive Empire’s arguments and concerns. In fact, page 99 reflects much of the scholarship that has been written about colonial motoring in the past—focused on the actions of European manufacturers and engineers and concerned with technical innovation over everyday use and the effects of technology on individual lives—that this book seeks to expand beyond. As this chapter goes on to show, it was less the technological innovation than the dynamics of state and enterprise that proved significant. The close relationship between manufacturers like Citroën and French military and colonial officials in Africa and Paris forged what I call a colonial-industrial complex, wherein car manufacturers engaged in research and development to produce a so-called “colonial car” that could stand up to the elements and the more rudimentary road infrastructure in Africa. Within this complex, colonial authorities benefitted from the application of technical expertise to the colonial “transport problem,” while the manufacturers garnered attention and acclaim for their technical innovations and the desert tours and stress tests that received rapt attention in the French media on both sides of the Mediterranean.

This test is revealing of larger dynamics of the book, however, in that it offers the background to one of many European attempts to solve the intractable colonial “transport problem.” It exhibits a shared European project that connected colonies across European empires in Africa from 1895 to 1940. Although each empire developed its own solutions, Belgian, British, French, German, Italian, and Portuguese officials each saw automobiles and roads as solutions to the colonial transport problem. The background on French manufacturers from page 99 is indicative of a shared European assumption that technical capabilities could overcome the challenges posed by massive colonial territories, chronic underinvestment in African development, and disregard for the concerns and needs of their colonial subjects. Automotive Empire traces these ambitious European projects of colonial motorization and road construction in Africa, arguing that they created a shared form of “automotive empire” that explains why European colonial projects of this era were so coercive, as well as why they failed to accomplish European goals of organized governance and efficient economic extraction. As the book reveals, the answer lies in the gap between the perceived superiority of European technology and infrastructure and their actual use in Africa by a wide range of African and European drivers, passengers, and pedestrians.
Learn more about Automotive Empire at the Cornell University Press website.

Writers Read: Andrew Denning (December 2014).

The Page 99 Test: Skiing into Modernity.

--Marshal Zeringue

Monday, July 15, 2024

Matthew K. Shannon's "Mission Manifest"

Matthew K. Shannon is Associate Professor of History at Emory & Henry College. He is the author of Losing Hearts and Minds, and editor of American-Iranian Dialogues.

Shannon applied the "Page 99 Test" to his new book, Mission Manifest: American Evangelicals and Iran in the Twentieth Century, and reported the following:
Mission Manifest offers a critical history of American evangelicals in Iran during the mid- twentieth century. These evangelicals, primarily associated with the Presbyterian Church in the United States of America (PCUSA), lived and worked in pre-revolutionary Iran, especially Tehran, alongside other Americans and their Iranian friends and colleagues. The book contains seven chapters, most of which cover the period from the 1940s to the 1960s. Each chapter focuses on a particular manifestation of the American mission in Iran.

Page 99 is in the middle of chapter 4 and is about the educational manifestation of mission. The page begins with a discussion of how the United Nations inspired the Presbyterian conception of international education at the Community School of Tehran. This was a coeducational, English- language, K-12 school in downtown Tehran that existed from 1935 to 1980. Page 99 provides a biographical portrait of Richard Irvine, the lead administrator of the school from 1951 to 1967, and it unpacks his model of international education, which he actualized at Community School. These Americans were never alone, as the page ends with a discussion of the international faculty, which continues in more detail on the following page.

Page 99 is, in many ways, a microcosm of the book because it demonstrates the ways in which Presbyterian evangelicals engaged with the modern world at brick-and-mortar institutions alongside their American and Iranian colleagues in downtown Tehran. Indeed, Community School occupied an important place in the educational landscape of Pahlavi Iran. For anyone interested in more, please check out the Community School Tehran collection on the Presbyterian Historical Society’s Pearl Digital Archive. Yet there are some missing pieces from page 99. The church is underplayed and the Iranian context could be more pronounced. Moreover, there is no discussion of U.S. foreign relations or the American colony in Iran that was, by the late 1970s, nearly 50,000-strong. These subjects are covered elsewhere in the book.

On the whole, if a reader of Mission Manifest applied the Hafez test – the practice of opening a book of Hafez’s poetry to a random page for insight into one’s future – and found themselves on page 99, they could hardly do better!
Learn more about Mission Manifest at the Cornell University Press website.

--Marshal Zeringue

Sunday, July 14, 2024

Chloe Ahmann's "Futures after Progress"

Chloe Ahmann is assistant professor of anthropology at Cornell University.

She applied the "Page 99 Test" to her new book, Futures after Progress: Hope and Doubt in Late Industrial Baltimore, and reported the following:
From page 99:
Minnie did not share her suitcase with me right away. Between 2015 and 2016, we crossed paths each week at Seniors’ Club, a casual gathering hosted at the recreation center by the park. There, elders settled scores through cutthroat Bingo games. I had first arrived as Betty’s guest a few years back, after she gleaned that I liked listening to “the old heads tell their stories.” Once I returned for fieldwork and became a regular, Minnie had begun attending, too. She would sit at the edge selling sodas for a quarter. I sometimes bought a can to say hello, but Minnie only answered with a nod—eyes down, back straight. She was a shy, elegant woman who stood out in a playful group: she sipped her soda through a straw and ate her sandwich with a fork. Sometimes she would listen as other seniors reminisced about “how nice” this place once was, but she rarely did join in herself. “I don't really know anything,” Minnie would say. Then she would walk away.

So I was surprised one afternoon when Minnie tapped my shoulder and handed me her husband's obituary, tied up with a string. “I know it's tacky, but you should know the truth,” she declared. Not knowing what to do, I thanked her. The write-up said that he had died after a years-long battle with cancer. It would be another three months before Minnie approached me again and said she wanted me to look at some papers. It turned out the obituary was just the first in a series of exhibits she had set aside two decades back to help secure a buyout for her neighbors.
Readers turning to page 99 will meet one of the loveliest humans I came to know over 14 years spent working in South Baltimore, where I study the long afterlife of American industry. She curated the archive that taught me most: a collection of news clippings tucked into a suitcase underneath her bed, where she also kept photographs of her late husband.

My book is centrally about the shape the future takes for people after progress narratives reveal themselves to be untenable. But it is just as much about the past that lingers in both bodies and landscapes—that shades the work of hoping here. So, this page is an exquisite introduction.

Minnie had a fraught relationship with the industrial past. She held it close but didn’t like to look at it directly. And for good reason. Her story opens Chapter 2, about a moment in the late Cold War when residents made sick over years of toxic exposure fought for a buyout of their homes. Rather than politicize this long-term violence, they learned to dramatize their imminent demise in the event of an industrial disaster: a studied response to the US state's fixation on apocalypse.

In the sense that they eventually secured a buyout, this argument was a success. But it hinged on an agreement to limit charges to the hypothetical. It proceeded as if the gravest obstacles to life lay then, in the devastating future, and not now, ambient and tedious. Examining how residents came to strike this painful bargain and the bleak conditions that made it seem like their best choice, the chapter considers what it means to acquiesce to an analysis that treats the future as if it matters most. It turns out there is something deeply compromised about participating in a story that contains the local past and stuffs it underneath the bed. There is something very grim about realizing that your hypothetical death matters more to those in power than your real one.

As the page hints, the chapter affirms, and the book explores across its five core chapters, living with industry means living with violence past, present, and ongoing. But—and Minnie’s suitcase also taught me this—there is so much good worth holding onto here.
Visit Chloe Ahmann's website.

--Marshal Zeringue

Saturday, July 13, 2024

Neil Verma's "Narrative Podcasting in an Age of Obsession"

Neil Verma is Assistant Professor of Sound Studies in the Department of Radio/Television/Film at Northwestern University. His books include Theater of the Mind: Imagination, Aesthetics and American Radio Drama (2012) and, as coeditor, Indian Sound Cultures, Indian Sound Citizenship (2020) and Anatomy of Sound: Norman Corwin and Media Authorship (2016).

Verma applied the "Page 99 Test" to his new book, Narrative Podcasting in an Age of Obsession, and reported the following:
Page 99 of my book is odd to read on its own. It lands in the middle of a digression about two phases of critiques that writers made of the landmark podcast Serial, whose debut season featured a study of the murder trial of Adnan Syed in Maryland.

On this page I summarize features in the first phase of critiques, which appeared soon after the popular show was released in 2014. In this phase, writers who felt critical of Serial often argued (a) that the reporters failed to engage in broader, more systemic critiques of the criminal justice system, (b) that the lure of compelling characters led podcasters away from ethical journalism, and (c) that the practice of focalizing events through a reporter was inherently suspicious. On that last point, I write about my concept of “audioposition,” which I developed in my earlier book on classic radio drama, Theater of the Mind. Audioposition is a little like the equivalent of “point-of-view;” it is intended to name where we are according to what we hear. I write about it this way on the page: “In true crime […] we ‘are’ usually on a reporter’s desk, in her car, and at her home; often she literally has us in the palm of her hand ‘inside’ her portable recorder moving through a space.” The use of very obvious audiopositioning makes some listeners feel manipulated, and you can understand why: “Any narrative device that betrays rhetorical emphasis on audioposition immediately calls to critical attention other possible audioposition that the piece did not elect to take […].”

Would readers turning to page 99 get a good idea of the overall book? Sort of. My book is about narrative podcast aesthetics from 2014 to about 2020. In it, I study several hundred shows to reveal how podcasts developed a common feeling (usually that feeling is obsession), how they staged searches for knowledge, and how they often seemed so disconnected with predecessors as to seem amnesiac. Page 99 has little to say about all that. However, the book nests my ideas about affect, knowledge and memory within contemporaneous historical critiques. The book also models technical ways to analyze podcasts, such as using pitch-tracking and audioposition analysis. On the latter points, page 99 would give you a pretty good idea of what to expect.
Learn more about Narrative Podcasting in an Age of Obsession at the University of Michigan Press website.

--Marshal Zeringue