Death ☠️ to "Why Didn't I Learn This in High School?"
NOTE FROM NON-BORING HOUSE Eglantyne Jebb and Me. Plus a Bloody Survey.😬
{Excited announcer voice}: And now {drumroll} LIVE from Non-Boring House in Madison, Wisconsin . . . HEEEEEEEEEERE’S DOCTOR ANNETTE LAING!
{Enthusiastic applause from the studio audience of Gnomes}
Greetings, Nonnies, Readers, and Newbies!
ALERT! ALERT! There’s going to be a Bloody Survey.😬
Hello, everyone! Thank you! Thank you! Great to see you! Ignore that little alarm that just went off! Pay no attention to it!
I'm happy to announce that subscriptions to Non-Boring History are trending up.
Maybe you are one of my new readers?
I'm imagining you.
You just opened your very first Non-Boring History email. You're auditioning NBH, stroking your chin with thumb and forefinger, while hovering your mouse over “unsubscribe”.
WAIT! You just got here! Quick, come in, sit down. Look, the play started already. Months ago, in fact.
Now you're settling into your comfy seat, you realize you have no idea what's going on. You whisper to your neighbors: Where's the Non-Boring History at Non-Boring History?
Consider this: It's possible that it's too soon for you to know if you'll like Non-Boring History. Sometimes, a play and its audience don't click until the second Act.
“Walking into a play that's underway” also captures our relationships to history when we're born. We arrive when the play's in progress, and the people sitting around us try to bring us up to speed as quickly as possible on everything that happened before we arrived.
So. Newbies. Bear with me. Not interested in the Bloody Survey you might have noticed that I mentioned? No worries.
Here are some ways we can get acquainted and get you in the loop:
Scroll down to see other news in this occasional newsletter (this is just one of several types of post I send, and you can inspect them from the top of the Non-Boring History home page).
Go have a rummage in the “archive”. It's not old stuff: It's all relevant.
Do read the orientation post if you haven't yet.
And if the words “Bloody Survey” didn't make you go all cold and clammy? Great! Jump in.
‘Fraid So, Folks: A Bloody Survey.😬
Everyone: Whether you are a Total Newbie, a Deeply Devoted Nonnie, or Somewhere in Between, the Gnomes and I at Non-Boring House want to hear from you.
Yeah, I know. I understand.
If you’re willing to give the Bloody Survey a go, know that it's on Google Forms, it’s anonymous, and you don't have to answer every question (plus they don’t all apply to each and every reader). The Bloody Survey does not include identifying information or prying personal questions about your address, age, or lovelife, that sort of thing.
On board? The Market Research Gnomes at Non-Boring House are standing by. So, please:
What’s My Line at Non-Boring History?
First: I normally ignore the calendar here at NBH, but here's a tip of the hat to Black History Month.
Here are three of the pieces on African-American history I have written for Annette Tells Tales at NBH this past year.
You can find all of them in the searchable “archive” (collection) at Non-Boring History.
So, what am I writing for you next at Non-Boring House?
Not sure. I have a few books on the go, so you may soon read about a 17th century conspiracy theory in England. Or perhaps a work on Indians and slavery. Or lawns, maybe.
Lawns? Annette, with everything going on right now, you're going to write about lawns? Seriously?
Yep. Oh, don’t worry, there’s method to my madness. American lawns, you see, are a great example of how we go to great expense and trouble to do things, why we believe things, because we're expected to. We assume these things are self-evident, when they're nothing of the kind. They have a beginning, and a history of which we’re unaware. One day, they will have an end. Getting to know this history matters enormously, because, too often, by simply believing, we’re not just wasting large parts of our lives on these things, but actively causing harm to ourselves and others.
All that from lawns?
Yep. But this is one of those subjects that demands a long-form piece, not a long-winded explanation. There's going to be an Annette Tells Tales post.
For now, forget about lawns. I’ll just tell you all about my current obsession. At Random (1977) is the published posthumous reminiscences of 124-year-old Random House publisher, TV personality (What’s My Line?), and all-around charmer Bennett Cerf, who although very much a man of his time, would fit right in if he popped into Non-Boring House for a cup of tea.
Of course, Bennett Cerf might not feel the same about us. I suspect Hoosen, the Gnomes, and I are not really impressive enough for Mr. Bennett Cerf. Although Hoosen, Jr., the family sophisticate, might be.
Anyway . . . If Bennett Cerf (born 1898) did visit for a chat, he would probably say something patronizing or off-color about women, with his winning grin, something inappropriate that I can imagine making even this jaded historian outraged. He may be a person of his time, but I’m a person of my time, OK occasionally.
And then I imagine explaining to Bennett Cerf in no uncertain terms how the world has changed (yeah, no, not really) since he died in 1971, and then him (hopefully but possibly not) getting a clue and apologizing. Maybe that wouldn’t go well, either.
So, yes. I can now imagine Imaginary Bennett Cerf legging it back down our driveway, with a flung cast-iron pan following in his wake.
Still, I wouldn’t cancel him. I don’t do that. Man of his time, and all things considered, still someone I would gladly invite to a dinner party. I’d just make sure to sit him between me and terrifying feminist Germaine Greer.
Kidding. Before you judge, know that Bennett Cerf was a great friend of celebrated lesbian literary couple Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas. Cerf interviewed Stein live on coast-to-coast radio in 1934, and confessed on air that he didn't understand her books, even though he published them. Stein shot back, “you're a very nice boy, but you're rather stupid.” Cerf thought this was a hoot. He told the story on himself in At Random.
Oh, and when, in 1944, another publisher bought the front page of Publisher’s Weekly, for a photo of one of their most glamorous authors, the writer of a racy romance? Bennett Cerf bought the back cover for Random House and featured a photo of Stein and Toklas with the caption “Shucks, we’ve got glamour girls, too!” Stein and Toklas loved it. They were women of joy, love, and humor. So yeah, Bennett Cerf still gets invited to dinner.
Zooming in The Winter of Omicron
It’s my school visit season, and this marks the very first time I have tried to juggle school author visits (which I’ve been doing since 2009) and Non-Boring History (which I’ve been doing since April.) Twitch. And a pandemic, too. Twitch.
This year, all my bookings so far to speak in schools around the country are via Zoom. All, that is, except one, and I’m holding my breath about that. So I’ll soon be headed to work in California, Georgia, Florida, and beyond, commuting across the hall in my slippers.
Any gains in time from this arrangement are more than compensated for by the hard work of entertaining kids from behind my desk.
But I DO enjoy Zoom, which draws on my long-ago TV presenting experience. And I don’t agree that it’s feeble. I have learned that virtual programs’ disadvantages can be overstated. As a longtime fan of Britain’s National Theatre, and of NTLive, its virtual version, beamed around the globe, I often can’t remember whether I saw a play in the National Theatre’s complex in London, or on TV, where I tend to get the best possible view.
I have six (soon seven) different history programs for schools, most of which connect with my novels. Interested? Visit my site.
Why Didn't I Learn This History in High School?
Here begins my long-overdue campaign on behalf of historians everywhere to eradicate (or at least reduce the usage of) this very common question.
First, because we all love tests, here’s a short multiple-choice quiz to kick off:
Q: Why didn't I learn about _____ in high school history class?
A. Because the people who wrote your state curriculum were:
a) Dimwits
b) Raging bigots and/or zealots
c) Dependent on uneducated people to elect them
d) Drunk
e) a, b, c, and d
f) Historians
HINT: (f) is obviously the misleading option. Historians and potted plants are only brought in to decorate the room after the curriculum committee approves what politicians wrote on a napkin.
g) Historian says: What the question is actually asking is far more complicated than it implies. We need to unpack this. Have a seat. Would you like a nice cup of tea? Let’s talk for the next few hours . . . days . . . months . . . decades.
Answer Key: The correct answer is “g”. Now, if you insist on asking the question as stated, then you could argue for one of the other options, depending on the state, the subject, but . . . It’s not that simple…. Drones on for hours.
This is why I never give multiple choice tests. And why historians don't get invited to parties.
Okay, Annette, fine, whatever, very humorous. But why didn’t I learn about {insert event, person, etc here} in high school?
Hmm. Okay . . . . I'll try again. It will be short, but you're not going to like it. Historians don't do short well at all. You have been warned. Try to resist the urge to cancel me.
So….
Despite the brave efforts of a few historians and teachers, US high school history still exists largely in its own universe of feel-good heritage, a politician-approved collection of facts to memorize from a corporate textbook, not proper history.
The goal of curriculum (the official course of study, usually set in state legislatures in the US), is to have students remember a narrow body of facts (just the facts, ma’am).
Curriculum facts are also facts that politicians remember from their own schooling. For example, the Battle of Upchet Creek, which I just made up. The same politicians agree it won’t hurt their re-election chances if the public gets wind of what really happened at the Battle of Upchet Creek.
Curriculum facts are also facts that the public (or at least its shouty self-appointed representatives who actually turn up to public meetings) sort of agrees are what young people should know from the past. This, despite the problem that the public, including its loud self-appointed representatives, don’t know anything much (whispers: anything, really) about history, either.
For now, let’s just let Mr. Spock explain state history/social studies curriculum:
One last question for today, for your serious consideration: Do you honestly think that, even if they weren't coaching students to pass bad tests, teachers would have time to teach all published history, popular or academic, much less some random thing that happened in the past that you read on the internets, and decide you should have known?
I think we both know the answer to that question.
And before anyone can say yeah but whatabout, I'll just say for now that the problem is far more complicated than this, but we will unpack everything, in due course (as my Dad used to say) at NBH. I told you you wouldn't like my short answer. Neither do I. I'm much happier answering with stories. That's where historians shine. Stick around.
Special Note: Are You a Journalist?
Journalists: Have you asked the dreaded "Why Didn't We Learn This in High School?" question in your reporting?
Former award-winning college newspaper reporter and editor, AND qualified historian here!
Now, listen up.
Journalists are the WORST about claiming they have “discovered” what historians have been writing and teaching about for years, blaming high schools, and “the history books” for hiding this knowledge from you.
Do you mean the already enormous school textbooks? Or do you mean the actual history books you never read except, possibly, to crib from them?
And then journalists write about these supposed discoveries of yours, doing a photo op with a bemused archivist, taking credit and prestigious prizes (and a crap ton of money) for “revealing” these “hidden” stories, while historians who have written about them struggle to make rent.
So, a warning to journalists: Knock it off, hacks. We're not only onto you, we're coming for you. That’s because the era of self-sacrificing scholarship purely for academic readers is drawing to an end for many fed-up, broke, and stressed history professors.
Nice little gig you got there, history journos. Shame if historians started writing better, and something happened to it {cracks knuckles}
Or you could, you know, stop using that silly question in your writing. And give real historians some credit, not just congratulating yourself and maybe the Famous Pretendy (Non-) Historians Who Look Good on TV But Actually Know A Lot Less Than You Think.
Just saying.
The Fork in Today’s Road
Here’s the moment when I wish my free readers a very happy weekend, and invite the Nonnies to stick around for a few final reflections on Eglantyne Jebb.
If you are a free reader and want to join me for that extra bit of goodness, know that you get instant access when you become a Nonnie. Hit the subscribe button below, and sign up on an annual or monthly paid plan.
But I won’t hold it against you if you don’t. And in the same spirit, I ask you not to hold it against me for asking.
If you’re brand new to NBH, all I ask is that stick around for a few weeks, and give it a good test drive, in all its infinite variety.
I hope you won’t think me rude, going off with the Nonnies. But note that I've given everyone plenty of material before lowering the paywall. And sometimes, folks, as we say in the States, you gotta dance with them what brung you.
Been on the fence about Nonniedom and ready to go for it? Here: