I loved "The Real West Marginal Way" by Richard Hugo. Finally, an autobiographical account of the true, if subversive, virtues of the 'less civilized' versus the technological 'advantages' of urban living. I feel that all too often Romantics source fictional texts such as Huxley's Brave New World, Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451, or even Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby to prove their beliefs as Truth, but as these are all works of fiction, the papers only carry merit among the philosophical or literary communities. Though these works are integral to opening people's eyes to the atrocities of humankind's infinite march of innovation, even Ovid's revolutionary "Four Ages," detailing the gradual downfall of man through subsequent evolutionary changes, cannot truly be considered a primary source in this ongoing debate. On one side of the argument are those supporting the growth of our technology, knowledge, and cultures to encourage further advancement to reach our full potential. Conversely, those arguing for Nature state that progress is regress; all progress eventually takes us further away from our true place on the planet by robbing us of our carefree innocence, aimless meandering, and sense of community, if only through shared common experiences. With each consecutive innovation comes the correlating disintegration of all peace and happiness, as well as, if not more importantly, the gradual annihilation of the delicate symbiotic relationship between ourselves and our natural environment. These novels have such a strong following, due, in part, to the extreme juxtaposition of the plentiful pastoral landscapes and unknowing happiness of the hunter-gatherer inhabitants with the filth, rot, and crime of a "civilized" world.
I find it interesting to note however that Hugo begins his essay with the poverty, filth, cultural anomalies, and social inequalities which describe the lower class community in which he spent his youth. He begins by describing the geography of the West Seattle area, and then chooses to contrast his hometown in which one "felt debasement [with its] loud belching steel mill, the oily, slow river, the immigrants hanging on to their old ways" instead of conforming to the American ideal, and the "Indians getting drunk" with the organized and decadent suburban lifestyle of West Seattle. Despite his critical description, Hugo admits that he felt a certain sense of the exotic about the many foreign immigrants in his hometown and even that "the community [...] always seemed beautiful." Understandably, to the curiosity and innocence of childhood, the cultural backwardness and physical dilapidation of their community is nothing compared to the "middle class paradise" of West Seattle where "the streets were paved, the homes elegant, and the girls far more desirable." The bloated dead bodies of animals floating lazily with the polluted brown swells of the river speak of disease, rot, and, perhaps, irrational practices of the uneducated mind. When confronted with such images on a regular bases, the affluence and technology of the suburbs would seem ideal. However, as argued by all of the regressionalists, the natural dirt and grime that 'civilized society' abhors is Real and True, untouched innocence of the Earth offering asylum from the sterile and meaningless existence of those swept up in the tide of progress. Those that live in the city abide by unspoken and unmentioned rules of their society, the days sectioned off in to school, work, and social time, all of which are activities bearing no relevance to ones immediate survival on Earth. It is here, of course, that other non-essential characteristics appear, such as the strong emphasis on proper manners, etiquette, and attire. People are individuals unto themselves and therefore personally responsible to uphold the social norms and maneuver within the ever tightening bars of society's expectations. Conversely, in a community struggling for survival, regardless of its diversity or seemingly disjointed communication, life experiences are always shared, whether it means struggling financially
to be cont
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And as we see in Richard Hugo's view, neither nature nor civilization is paradise. The Duwamish was once an estuary that fed native peoples on its rich harvest of fish and clams. By the time Hugo lived in the area, it had already become a dumping ground of sorts. Later, in the name of progress, the curving river was straightened and made a more effective passage for industry as well as a disposal site for waste of all kinds. These days, although there are efforts by organizations such as People for Puget Sound to clean up and reclaim the area little by little, the land along the river is so polluted that, in places, when you step on the earth, oil oozes to the surface. And yet somehow trees grow, waterbirds nest, and certain natural elements make it their home. Hugo's writing acknowledges the beauty as well as the squalor, the growth as well as the decay. Those truthful observations are, for me, what lends a particular appeal to his view.
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