Winterslow and Nether Wallop

They really exist.

Woodstock

On Wednesday, just about a year since I last visited, I returned to Woodstock, New York.



Last year, the purpose of our day was a tour of Woodstock Farm Animal Sanctuary, which was wonderful and exhilarating but left little time for anything else. Fortunately, we did have time for lunch at the Garden Café, which was just as nice this year.

(The warm chocolate brownie with chocolate sauce and soy vanilla ice cream is the perfect October dessert.)

This time we strolled around the town. Halloween decorations were out:

Some pretty leaf stones:

Hippie clothes:

A country library:

Funky antiques (the sign says Open, but it was closed):

This is an inn at a waterfall, both of which were quiet:

A fat cat on the deck of the inn:

(On the other side is an apartment for rent.)

Some dishflowers in an old bathtub:

My favorite shop was Candlestock, “Home of the World’s Largest Drip Candle Sculpture.” I especially loved the exotic travel-themed votives.

On Wednesdays there’s a farmers’ market:

It was good for the soul.

The Path of the gods, it has many steps.

No, I haven’t converted to polytheism. The title is a reference to the Sentiero degli dei, a hiking trail that hugs the Amalfi coast, overlooking the Mediterranean. I walked/climbed the stretch between Praiano and Positano last month, and thought I would share some pictures and information.

Before I get into details, though, I should say that it was a remarkable experience and I would do it again in a second. If and when I return to the area, I’ll make sure not to miss it. Looking at my pictures, I’m wishing I could transport myself back there.…

But I think having more knowledge ahead of time can only enrich the experience. I’d done a little – in retrospect, not enough – internet investigation before I left the US, and went into it with some impressions that turned out to be inaccurate. Three subjects that could use some attention are: the difficulty of the trail, its suitability for people afraid of heights, and the quality of the signage.

(A few general notes, on which people seem to agree: First, it’s best to walk toward Positano rather than away from it. Second, start early, before the sun is high in the sky. We were fortunate to be sheltered by some misty clouds that diffused the sunlight and made the climb more interesting, but you shouldn’t go if there’s any threat of rain. If you’re taking the bus andor ferry to your starting point, plan accordingly and find the schedule that will get you there as early as possible. Wear sunscreen, and bring more. Bring plenty of water. Bring some cash. Bring your camera – you’ll want it.)

So, first, the level of difficulty. Maybe the most important element is the amount of climbing. The path itself is high, close to the top of the cliffs, so you have to reach it somehow. I saw several references to the 1700-step staircase at the Positano end, but I guess I hadn’t taken enough note of the discussions about starting the path in Praiano as opposed to Agerola. Apparently, if you begin in Bomerano (a neighborhood in Agerola), the bus drops you off high on the cliffs so you don’t have to climb up to reach the path itself. In contrast, where we entered in Praiano, the bus leaves you relatively low on the cliffside and you have to climb 1900 steps, to many of which the term “step” is loosely applied.

You won’t really see much of this portion in people’s pictures, because it’s extremely difficult and vertigo-inducing to take pictures as you’re climbing. Here are a couple from places we stopped to catch our breath.

After we’d climbed probably more than a thousand steps, we came upon a little church/monastery with a cute snack bar and a bathroom.

The man there was quite nice, and we also met a family of hearty Belgians who were just leaving as we arrived. Catching our breath, we asked hopefully, “There isn’t much more climbing after this, right?” “I don’t want to get your hopes down,” the man said gently, “but yes, there is.” Resigned to our future after hearing that, we set off climbing again, and yes, there was quite a bit more. Once we’d accepted it, though, and knowing we were making progress toward the top, the climb became more pleasant and the views increasingly amazing.

So, the Praiano climb is an important element in assessing the trail’s difficulty, and could explain to some extent the widely varying accounts. The descriptions I’d read before I left for Italy were largely ones like this (from recent posts on TripAdvisor):

“I had read many reviews about this walk hoping to find out if it would be suitable for someone with a bad knee and hip could walk it and I found no difficulty at all.”

“There is quite a bit of up and down but it is very achievable and no where near as hard as some reviews have suggested. My step mother (60) who has low to average fitness managed the walk and 1600 steps down [in Positano] and has now a great sense of achievement.”

“This is an easy walk on good paths, the one or two rougher patches are very short not difficult so long as sensible footwear is worn.”

“Agree with previous posters that this isn't really a ‘hike’. It's more of a stroll along an extremely beautiful path.”

If I’d dug deeper into the older posts on TripAdvisor, I would have found ones more like this, several pages in:

“The walk is quite demanding as the path is often no more than rough gravel and steps made from granite rocks. Wilst the path roughly stays at 600 metres or so above sea level, it does go up and down alot. We are both fit and active and would not describe this as a modest stroll.”

“This is a wonderful hike with awesome vistas along the entire route. Be advised that it is somewhat challenging and rocky at points.”

“Although a hard walk and very high at times, the walk was absolutely fantastic.”

“I consider myself in good shape (I run and workout several times a week) but there were a couple of times I was huffing and puffing. The hike is strenuous, but doable, with breaks, water and snacks.”

As I said, I probably hadn’t paid enough attention to the fact that most if not all of the people describing the walk as easier had begun in Agerola and not Praiano as we did. And that makes a difference – climbing almost 2000 stone steps carved into a cliff adds considerably to the overall difficulty. From what I’ve come to understand, the section that goes from Agerola to Praiano is comparatively leisurely.

However, even as a description of the part of the path from above Praiano to Nocelle/Positano, the first set of statements I think give a false impression. Very few sections could honestly be characterized as an easy walk or stroll, or suitable for people who aren’t physically fit or have knee or hip problems. Any trail where you have to use your hands in parts and keep your focus in finding your footing amongst rocks is pretty much by definition not a stroll. At one point we turned and took pictures of the path behind us:

Not a stroll. (I had to laugh as I was looking through my pictures, and then when I did a search online to see others’. None of them really show the narrow, rocky, ascending/descending sections, leaving the impression that the path is wide and flat throughout. I eventually realized that this is because it’s generally only in the easier sections that it’s advisable – or possible, really – to take pictures.)

Which brings me to the fear of heights. Here are a couple of descriptions from TripAdvisor:

“For the most part, the trail is wide and not as precarious as the overall steep slopes would seem to suggest.”

“People mention that there are some bits that aren't great for vertigo sufferers which worried me a bit but I saw nothing that was an issue. I think it would only be a problem if you have serious vertigo rather than a dislike of heights which is what I have.”

I can’t agree with this. Again, this is probably in some part related to the Praiano climb, since it included some of the narrowest sections beside steep drops. Climbing there, even for me and my companion who aren’t especially afraid of heights, often involved not turning around. I did a couple of times, and I imagine that if I were afraid of heights panic might have set in. (I would not recommend descending those steps in Praiano to anyone, really, but especially not to people with any fear of heights at all. It’s one thing to have the cliff at your back, but quite another to be facing the drop while propelled forward and downward.) But even setting this portion aside, the trail itself is often narrow (see the picture just above) and you’re often separated from the edge by a rickety excuse for a fence or nothing. This is in my view the more useful assessment for the acrophobes:

“If you are like me and do not like heights or being close to the edge of some extremely high and sheer drop offs on somewhat treacherous terrain, either go shopping, wear blinders or just figure on dealing with it. I managed to wear out a pair of leather gloves by crabbing across rocks and clutching at rock walls and there were several times where I really thought panic seemed to be the only way to a merciful end of the fear. I am however delighted that I didn't give in as this is truly a spectacular hike. I do believe though that a career in mountain climbing is not in my future. ;-)”

Finally, signage. Once again, although there are several people providing accurate information, there are some strange claims being made on TripAdvisor and elsewhere:

“The trail is easy to follow and there are signs that guide you along the way, just follow the red and white marks left on certain landmarks, such as rocks.”

“We found the path to be very well marked…”

By no stretch of the imagination is the path well marked. You often have to search the rocks around you for a splash of paint that looks like an arrow, and one of the funniest parts to me was that you would have to feel your way and pretty much guess for a long stretch, only then to come to a tiny, inconspicuous sign when you no longer needed it. The consensus seems to be that the entrance to the path in Agerola is well marked, and I can’t confirm or refute that, but neither the entrance nor anything else in Praiano is, and the stairs down to Positano are extremely hard to find.

Despite some initial surprises and confusion, we had a great experience. But I think everyone should go into it with as much information as possible, so here are my thoughts and suggestions:

- If I have the opportunity to do it again – and I hope I do soon – I would probably try it from Agerola. If you’re staying in Positano, though, it seems like this can be a bit of a pain, since you have to take a bus or ferry to Amalfi and then a connecting bus to Agerola.* Several people reported that the buses can be crowded, and the whole process can take more time than you might want to spend before you even get on the trail itself. (A few people mentioned hiring a private driver to take them, but the idea of spending 60 euros or more to get to a free hiking trail seems strange to me.) I’ll reiterate that the experience is well worth these minor difficulties.

But I would also probably do the Praiano stairs again, now with the full knowledge of what I’m in for. I would recommend the Praiano climb to people who a) want a serious workout,** b) want a sense of accomplishment, c) are physically fit, and d) have no or minimal issues with heights. (As I said above, I wouldn’t recommend descending in Praiano to anyone, really.)

- The path is moderately difficult in parts, but absolutely worth it as far as I’m concerned. The climb has probably to some extent colored my impression of the path as a whole, making it seem slightly more difficult than it would be for those beginning high up in Agerola, but still people should know that reports that it’s an easy stroll aren’t correct. We had possibly the best conditions: it was fairly early in the morning when we began; we had some light, misty clouds; and it wasn’t an extremely hot day, especially for mid-July. Even under these conditions, there were sections that were more difficult and strenuous. I don’t think you have to be in perfect shape to walk it, but don’t expect an easy stroll.

- For people who are slightly afraid of heights, I wouldn’t say “Don’t do it.” You should absolutely do it if you want to challenge or push yourself. But you should go into it with the knowledge that it might be a challenge. Claims that the trail doesn’t contain sections that would be stressful to people with some fear of heights aren’t correct. But if you want to try to confront and reckon with such fears, I can’t think of a more beautiful place to do it.

I hope this is useful information. Please feel free to ask questions or share your own impressions or advice in the comments.

*Of course, if you’re already at or near that end of the path you would want to begin there. Wherever you plan to begin, if you’re taking the bus you should probably have written on a card (or be able to say in understandable Italian) “Sentiero degli dei” and the name of the exact stop you need to get off, and show/tell this to the driver. It doesn’t hurt to ask the other passengers, either. Even if the driver doesn’t know what you’re talking about, you might well run into others going to the path – you’ll know them by their clothes - or locals who can show you where to enter. Speaking of locals, I was pleasantly surprised to discover that the hikers weren’t all foreign. We met several Italian people, and later learned from some local people that they’ve walked it many times.

**As one person said: “We started in Praiano, hiked up 2000 stairs, then trekked over the mountains back to Positano. There are other approaches to the path - I was told this is the best one if you want exercise (which I did after 2 weeks of Italian dinners!).”

Vegan food! Women artists! Fish x-rays! More!

Had a delightful visit to Philadelphia recently. I was surprised at how much we were able to pack into a short stay. A few highlights:

Vedge. This is a place I’d read about in magazines and seen included in lists of top vegan restaurants. It had also been highly recommended by a local, and I was trying to keep my expectations in check so as to avoid disappointment. But there was no need, as the food was every bit as delicious as the rave reviews had led me to believe. The spring pea crêpe was one of the best single plates of food I’ve ever eaten (and I don’t even like peas!). An enjoyable experience in every way – I can’t recommend it highly enough.

The Philadelphia Academy of the Fine Arts. Coincidentally, I saw The Art of the Steal recently



and so wasn’t keen on visiting the Barnes Collection or the big art museum (which would have been crowded and rushed for the amount of time we had anyway). PAFA is less heavily promoted, but it’s a real gem. The building itself is striking, and the collection of American art (including many works by former students and faculty) is a manageable size and well organized. My favorite galleries were the two at the far end, one featuring landscapes – the seascapes were of course the best – and the other dedicated to women artists. Apparently the Academy has been progressive in women’s art education, and I was happy to see such talent on display. I particularly liked the paintings by Susan Macdowell Eakins and Violet Oakley, and especially Eakins’ Girl in a Plaid Shawl (ca. 1880-85), which looks almost like a film still.



I often find the temporary contemporary exhibits at more traditional museums tedious, but I was impressed by Bill Viola’s Ocean Without a Shore.

“X-Ray Vision: Fish Inside Out.” We also stopped into this exhibit at the Chemical Heritage Foundation. They’re beautiful x-ray photos of ocean animals from the Smithsonian’s Collection of Fishes (a wonderfully and tragically poetic name*). Unfortunately, the exhibit ends today.



I’ll probably post about a few other sites in Philadelphia, including my new favorite fountain – the cat fountain outside Betsy Ross’s house.

* I did worry about the practices of "collection" and x-raying....

Woodstock Farm Animal Sanctuary!

I recently visited the Woodstock Farm Animal Sanctuary in New York. I loved it and wish I could visit every day. Here are some pictures of the animals (photographic quality took a backseat to cuteness in some of my choices; I make no apologies). You can learn more about the animals in the pictures here.

Before I visited I read the book by founder Jenny Brown, The Lucky Ones: My Passionate Fight for Farm Animals:

I recommend it if you’re planning to visit, and possibly even more if you’re not.

I get around

In the past few weeks I also visited the Hill-Stead Museum in Farmington, Connecticut. It’s the former home of Theodate Pope Riddle, the architect who designed not only the home itself but the Avon Old Farms School, amongst others.

I learned a few new facts about her, including that she was originally named Effie but later adopted the family name Theodate because it was not so recognizably female – helpful for a woman in a male-dominated profession like architecture. (Many women then and today, of course, use their initials; hers was an interesting choice.) She was also a spiritualist – which I gathered from the spines of the books in the fascinating library – who, unhappy with the leadership and direction of the spiritualist movement in the US, traveled to Britain to meet with spiritualist leaders there…on the Lusitania. She survived; her maid and friend were killed.

The Pope family were avid art collectors, and it’s a thrill to be able to walk up to gorgeous works by Monet, Manet, Degas, Whistler, and Cassatt in the rooms of a home. The museum is also featuring a changing exhibit of prints from their archives, which is wonderful.

One of the best, and unexpected, aspects of our visit was a group of wind sculptures by Lyman Whitaker at the entrance to the museum. They were great fun to photograph. Here’s my favorite:

My hedonistic New York City weekend

A few weeks ago I popped over to New York for one of my unfortunately rare weekend visits. It was as decadent as ever, and full of new places to visit (at night – we didn’t get out much in the daylight) and recommend.

We started with a Friday early-evening gathering in the upstairs bar at Cienfuegos on Avenue A, a tropical oasis where they serve a variety of fizzy rum punches in punchbowls with ladles. Fun. We probably wouldn’t have ordered the second bowl had we known our companions would leave it all to us. (Oh, who am I kidding?) Thank Bacchus, we had some food there as well, which was surprisingly good.

We then moved on to Poco, an elegant and bustling tapas bar on Avenue B. I almost wished I hadn’t eaten at Cienfuegos, as the spinach and wild mushroom macaroni & cheese was one of the best things I’ve ever had. If I could be eating it now, I would. The mushroom truffle croquettes were also nice. I think there was champagne….

From there we went to meet friends at Jimmy, the rooftop bar at the James Hotel. It’s entered through a nondescript door, a velvet rope, and a few more what I can only describe as coolness checkpoints. I love this from the hotel’s page:

*JIMMY is accessible to all hotel guests until 9 pm. After 9 pm there is a controlled entrance on the ground floor. If JIMMY is closed for a private event or unable to accommodate, you are welcome to enjoy cocktails at The Treehouse Bar, The Garden, or David Burke Kitchen Bar. We apologize for our success as our limited rooftop space and popular demand limits the number of guests we can welcome at one time.

Even if you’re paying hundreds of dollars a night to stay at the hotel, you still might not make the cut. You can’t buy cool.

It is beautiful. In the summer there’s a small pool, which of course wasn’t open at this time of year. Possibly the best views of the city I’ve seen:


[photo from link just above]

Closed out the night at our usual dive, which shall remain anonymous. Didn’t go to Odessa for early-morning food, which would’ve been wise.

We had a lovely dinner on Saturday when we finally made it out at around 9. Can’t remember the name of the restaurant.

Sunday brunch was at Rayuela on Allen St. I loved the open design, the food was a step above (desserts were artful), and they had open cava sangria, which is a great deal especially as my glass was never unfilled.

Everyone was super nice, and my friends are always the best. I was reminded of why I love New York…and why it would be dangerous to live there :). For anyone planning a visit, I’d recommend any of the places I mentioned above unreservedly.

Radioactive Wolves!

This was fascinating.

I want to take pictures there.

Totally unexpected results from trap tree poll

Here's the poll at GoodMorningGloucester. Who could have foreseen this?

Salem, Witches, and Woo

It should be said that the Salem Witch Museum, which I visited last Sunday, isn’t really a museum, and doesn’t contain any artifacts related to the witch trials in Salem, or anywhere for that matter. It’s a wax-figure diorama “show” followed by a rather rushed group tour of a sort of simulacrum of a museum, ending unceremoniously with the group being propelled into the gift shop. The narration and other sound effects of the diorama show are absurdly exaggerated, and the intent appears to be more to frighten than to enlighten. Even here, though, you get the sense that the creators had a genuine wish to educate. The more museum-like portion – a confused jumble of wax figures, timelines, and wall words – makes that evident, even though it fails on many levels.

The museum seems earnestly to want to inform people about “pagan” history, changing visions of witches, and the causes of witch hunts. More generally, the town has become something of a center, not only of Wicca, but of woo of all sorts. Psychics, tarot cards, astrology, hauntings, alternative healing – all are billed as part of the Salem experience.


And it isn’t all, or even predominantly, about commerce. The celebration of “real” witches and suppressed traditions in Salem is a nose-thumbing at puritans and other religious authoritarians, past and present. When it comes right down to it, though, it’s really just contesting one form of superstition and irrationality with others, and taking the spotlight off of the damage caused by religious beliefs and superstition in general.

Salem is a beautiful town with a rich history. The witch culture and attractions can provide entertainment and even some food for thought (or just a reminder to eat later). But it’s hard not to think about how this could be done so differently. For art in Salem, there’s the outstanding Peabody-Essex Museum I mentioned recently; there are other historical attractions at the harbor front. But it would be fantastic for the town to become a center of skeptical history and to have an institution that rigorously addresses local history from a contemporary perspective. The stories involved are enthralling enough that there’s no need for melodrama, and there’s a great deal of interesting research on both the local history and the larger dynamics of witchcraft accusations and persecution. It’s frustrating that the last display in the museum (offering the simplistic formula “fear + trigger → scapegoats”) refers to the internment of Japanese-Americans in World War II and McCarthyism, with the guide thoughtfully adding a mention of Muslims in the US post-9/11. Sadly, not a word is said about contemporary witch hunts around the world. These will be the topic of my next post.

For now, here are a few photos from the harbor:

The Cape Ann Museum and the Gloucester Sea Serpent

I spent an afternoon last week in the Cape Ann Museum. To some extent, I had to seek it out – there isn’t much talk of it, and while it’s located in downtown Gloucester, the exterior of the building is unassuming (I drove past it even though I knew the address and was specifically looking for it). It was well worth the visit. The museum itself is larger than it appears from outside, with three floors filled with art and artifacts related to the area and its history: fine art, crafts, vessels, reconstructions,…- a nice mix that doesn’t overwhelm. It’s like a more focused local version of Salem’s Peabody-Essex Museum, which I also adore.

I started, as was recommended, on the top floor with the temporary exhibit, which is currently “Presence/Absence: New Work by Bruce Herman.” Not my favorite, to be honest, and I didn’t care for its religious themes, but I give them credit for including more contemporary works. I hope they take that impulse further, both with the temporary exhibits and with the permanent collection. In the regular galleries, there were several individual pieces that stood out: Marsden Hartley’s Rocks, Dogtown (c.1930s), Jan Matulka’s Two Seashells (c.1929), Charles Hopkinson’s paintings of his daughters, photographs and works (like George Elmer Berry’s Granite and Marble Monument (1884)) related to quarrying, a section on Philip Saltonstall Weld, carved haddock bones, and more. But the Fitz Henry Lane gallery, the museum’s centerpiece, was superb and deserving of its top billing. The light, the colors, the precision! I would love to see exhibits in New England museums present maritime artwork within its political context, but that couldn’t possibly detract from the high quality of these beautiful paintings.

One piece in the museum that caught my eye was a small illustration – I believe it was for a magazine – of the Gloucester Sea Serpent. I wasn’t familiar with this story, but the details are fascinating. A series of sightings of a giant sea serpent in the area in 1817 – embellished and sensationalized in local papers - attracted the interest of the Linnaean Society of New England, which commissioned a series of depositions of “witnesses.” The Society collected the depositions, ignoring inconsistencies and other issues, and when a small snake was discovered on a beach in nearby Essex, they identified it as a new genus, Scoliophis atlanticus - a juvenile example of the giant sea serpent!

It would be easy to conclude simply that the amateur and professional scientists involved merely succumbed to popular fervor and leave it at that. But Chandos Michael Brown’s “A Natural History of the Gloucester Sea Serpent: Knowledge, Power, and the Culture of Science in Antebellum America”* more insightfully situates the sea serpent investigations within the context of science and status struggles in the early American republic. “For a brief moment,” Brown offers,

it appeared that American naturalists had established the existence of a new genus off the shores of North America - an accomplishment that simultaneously attested to the bounty of American nature and to the genius of American science. Ambitious and resourceful, these naturalists succeeded in introducing American evidence into the contemporary, largely European debate over the hypothesis of animal extinction. Wishing only to transform the relation of American science to the learned savants of the Old World, the Boston naturalists could not have anticipated that in the process they also would discover how precarious was their status in their own land. The episode further illuminates a peculiar feature of the practice of science in America: an activity shaped, in varying degrees, by the often conflicting claims of national pride and regional loyalty. Therefore, any natural history of the Gloucester sea serpent also must adumbrate the contest for cultural authority that engaged the attention of many American intellectuals during the formative years of the early republic.

Brown describes not only the reluctance with which Christians and deists of the era met evidence of extinction (and in some cases naturalistic investigation itself), but more centrally the concerns that seemed in part to motivate scholars to embrace the notion of a giant sea serpent prowling the waters off Massachusetts. This “discovery” appeared at a moment in which New England intellectuals were seeking to demonstrate that their locality/region/nation’s wonders and science were worthy of being taken seriously by the European scientific establishment (not to mention the US government). Unfortunately for them, they clung in this instance to a personality and status-driven idea of evidence in which challenging the credibility of the personal testimony of “gentlemen” or observations couched in scientific language was perceived as a personal attack as well as to a heroic conception of science that seemed to prize bold ventures above patient empirical work.

It doesn’t appear that anyone’s reputation was ruined or finances destroyed, so I don’t feel guilt at finding the story charmingly funny. At most, it seems to have been a source of some embarrassment – especially after the Linnaean Society’s report was so flatly dismissed by Henri de Blainville, editor of the Journal de physique - and likely an object lesson for some. Interestingly, the sea serpent reports were mocked at the time, especially in the South. In 1819, Charleston writer William Crafts, who had attended Harvard and knew well the culture he poked fun at, composed a satirical play, The Sea Serpent; or, Gloucester Hoax: a Dramatic jeu d'esprit in Three Acts, from which Brown quotes some. I wish I had the whole play to read, since it sounds just wonderful. It’s a wry sociology of the sea serpent “hoax,” “which captures in the satiric movement of its own plot the greater dramas that preceded it: the thoughtless boosterism of New England culture and the self-serving promotion of the Linnaean Society, the heedless nationalism of American naturalists, and finally, the consequences of an ill-considered quest for knowledge.”

The play contains a great exchange between the characters “Linnaeus” and “Skepticus.” In the end,

Linnaeus is chastened by the revelation of his own willful misapprehension and cautions others, in the fashion of Francis Bacon, to

Deem nothing true that is not proved - nor then
Believe it all - but doubt and doubt again
Falsehood's a floating superficial thing,
but truth is deeper than the deepest spring.

But “Seraphina, the daughter of Linnaeus,” Brown notes,

has the final word, which she addresses to the Linnaean Society and to other impetuous naturalists of the young Republic, who in their desire to impress merely court humiliation:

So fares it always with the advent'rous race,
Who banish nature - and give monsters place;
Imagine miracles without their need,
Look wise in fancy - but are dupes indeed.

A very intelligent play. Somewhat sad, then, that Brown closes with a criticism of Crafts. He suggests that the “critique of a science driven by cultural chauvinism and mis-directed national pride” expressed specifically in the Scepticus-Linnaeus discussion, while showing Crafts’ skill as a writer, “must have pleased him more than it could any conceivable audience for the play.” More generally, “[t]he pity,” according to Brown, “was that he chose to satirize - within the limited district of Charleston - rather than to engage his Northern brethren.” This sounds vaguely insulting toward Charleston theater audiences, and I’m not so sure Crafts chose the limited reach (who would?). But I don’t agree with the claim that public satire is not a form – and often a very effective form – of engagement with a motivated pseudoscience.

*American Quarterly, Vol. 42, No. 3 (Sep., 1990), pp. 402-436.