Criticism: "The Making of Americans"

“Some time then there will be every kind of a history of every one who ever can or is or was or will be living.”

When Gertrude Stein first wrote the above statement in the early 1900s – or better yet, when people first read it when The Making of Americans was first published in 1925, that assertion seemed absolutely preposterous. Yet such a sentiment isn’t so far-fetched nowadays. Who couldn't imagine a future iteration of ChatGPT cranking out endless variations of life stories in 500, 5000 or 50,000 words. Sure, it would take forever, but that's not the same as "can't be done." It's like snowflakes. Every one is unique. Or so they say. But how would we ever know? Must we simply trust the scientists? And if so, why not simply trust Gertrude Stein. Over at The Collidescope, I've been thinking...

When people ask me to explain – their euphemism for “justify”– my lifelong obsession with Gertrude Stein, I immediately get defensive. For I know they come at me with disdain and doubt. How do I counter their attitudes and disparagements? And what is their reason? And what is mine? Why do I continually go back to her novels, her memoirs, her plays? Is it her wit? Her insight? Her singular style? Fairly recently, my go-to answer had been: "It’s the way she reflects consciousness.” Having spent my summer re-reading her magnum opus The Making of Americans (which turns 100 this year), I think that answer’s bunk. No one’s mind follows the loopy patterns of Stein’s epic novel. Not even her idiosyncratic brain. Oh sure, we repeat ourselves – breathing, eating, complaining, to name but three lifelong habits. And yes, we obsess in our thinking. Sometimes, we get clearer. Sometimes not. And Stein understood this. Stein understands.

To find out what she understands or what I've come to understand having read her, head over to The Collidescope to check out the rest of my essay on The Making of Americans.

Photo Credit: The above pink-tinted, public domain image, Carl Van Vechten's "Portrait of Gertrude Stein, Biliguin" (1936), comes courtesy of the Library of Congress.