The City and the Satyr

            Growing up in Calgary, I often felt the city did not have a unified image or culture.  For whatever reason, this lack of cohesion across the social spectrum bothered me as I felt a city (and by extension country) should represent a collective ideology.  These insecurities arguably stemmed from the influx of American media that all Canadians are susceptible to.  This type of media, moreover, is entrenched with “Americanisms” that force the individual to view the United States as a synthetic paradigm to the world.  Although this strategic unification of American methodology often goes insane (Iraq anyone?), one can’t help but marvel at the pride inherent to the constitution of the United States.

            In a similar vein, I began to think about our conversation, which centered on stereotyping urban spaces.  Admittedly, my insights on the good ‘ol U. S of A are stereotypical; that said, they hold some merit when coupled with Canada’s struggle for identity.  Many American cities undoubtedly have stereotypical associations—Dallas (cowboys), Houston (oil), Nashville (hillbillies), Seattle (grunge), San Francisco (homosexuals)—nevertheless, these metropolises still characterize, in their own unique way, a unified American identity.

            What, then, should Edmonton come to represent?  What truly constitutes Canadian identity?  If we as a country can’t accurately define the whole, how are we to define the sum of its parts?  In my opinion, this is why many of our classmates personified Edmonton as a Minotaur, Mermaid, or Satyr.  Not in the sense that Edmonton is monstrous or deformed, but that this city cannot define itself because there may be a tension between two entities.  Of course, what these two halves should represent (city and country perhaps?) is open to debate and arguably not the issue.  The issue, to me at least, is that Edmonton has become a microcosm to the insecurities that characterize Canada as a whole.  Who are we as a country? What defines us and should it be defined?  Or, should we break free from the throngs of American society and stop trying to define that indefinable quality of Canadian space?  Should we stop trying to force an idealized sense of unity across a county as disparate and unique as Canada?

Big Trouble in Little Edmonton

                So much of our day-to-day depends on finding balance between perception and imagination.  Even though this precarious equilibrium is often achieved subconsciously, it actively affects the way in which we associate with communal living.  Growing up, a child understands their neighbourhood as a representation of the whole.  Their house, street, and school, for example, generate a primitive understanding of how the community interacts with the broader socio-economic atmosphere of the city.  As such, the child’s neighbourhood becomes a microcosm of the spaces he or she will interact with later in life.

                As a child grows, so, too, does their relationship with the world.  From riding bikes, to driving cars, to air travel, the world slowly unravels in concentric circles—still, the community remains.

                Community, however, means different things to different people.  Although the sense of community arguably exists more intimately in small towns and rural communities, the city (and by extension suburbia) will remain the source for this argument.  In this respect, the space within the city one was raised seems significant.  Even though the socio-economic environment of the suburbs is certainly not the only catalyst in the development of normative behavioural patterns; space, nevertheless, certainly relates to one’s imagination and perception.

                Take a child who was born in the comfort and security of suburban life, for example, this child arguably (though certainly not always) associates with communal space in a positive manner.  That is to say, this child ostensibly does not worry about injustice, crime, and punishment—he or she is free to move about the neighbourhood with relative safety.  As such, this individual matures with a positive perception of communal space, which is wholly dependent on an imagination formed during childhood.  On the other hand, a child born into the dereliction of housing projects, which are characteristic of many major urban centers, has to deal with the socio-economic atmosphere of such a neighbourhood.  Inherent to this environment, moreover, is the very real possibility of crime and poverty, which may instil an entrenched insecurity with respect to social space.  In other words, the child, conditioned by his or her surrounds, may be susceptible (for better or worse) to the socio-economic niche their neighbourhood has come to represent.               

The Day Before Yesterday

                In light of our recent discussion, and the current situation in Japan, I couldn’t help but focus this week’s blog on the city’s role in disaster prevention.  Even though the weather is suspect, the days are short, and the winters are long, we often forget how fortunate we are to be living in the city of Edmonton.  Unlike New Orleans, San Francisco, and Tokyo (to name a few examples), we as Edmontonians do not have to worry about the prospect of a massive natural disaster.  With that said, however, I can’t help but consider the importance of crisis prevention planning, mitigation and education in any major city—regardless of the frequency of environmental emergency.

                Living in Alberta for the past 23 years, I have received little education (beyond the severe weather warnings issued by Environment Canada) on the province’s, or country’s for that matter, contingency plan.  If there were to be a disaster in Alberta, I imagine many citizens would not know what to do or where to seek refuge.  Consequently, I believe the lack of disaster contingency planning would force people to rely on their most basic survival instincts.  This primal feature, inherent to all of humanity, could very well lead to pandemonium without proper instruction.  As such, I feel the Canadian government should be more active, organized and public with respect to their crisis contingency planning.

The Gatekeeper's Middle-Ground

Place a riddle-setting monster at the gate.

An amalgam of opposites—

Janus, two-faced overseer of beginnings,

Or the sphinx of Thebes—human head

On a beast`s crouched haunches (Alice Major “Set the Gates Open”)

                Unfortunately I was unable to attend class on Thursday, so I figured I would utilize my blog as an opportunity to discuss Alice Major`s poem “Set the Gates Open.”  To provide some context, in Roman religion and mythology Janus was the patron of concrete and abstract beginnings of the world—as such, he was often portrayed with two heads; one facing forward and another facing back (Wikipedia).  The sphinx of Thebes, moreover, was a mystical creature that guarded the entrance to the Greek city of Thebes.  She protected the gates by asking travellers the following riddle:

                Which creature in the morning goes on four legs, at mid-day on two, and in the evening upon three, and the more legs it has, the weaker it be?

As legend goes, the sphinx devoured anyone unable to answer; that was, at least, until Oedipus solved the riddle by answering:

                Man—who crawls on all fours as a baby, then walks on two feet as an adult, and then walks with a cane in old age (Wikipedia).

The sphinx, bested at last, then throws herself from her high perch and dies...

                Alice Major`s utilization of these ancient allusions proves to be quite successful in offering parallels to Alberta`s current economic and environmental situation.  While both of these figures undoubtedly represent a “changing of the guard”—that is, from the classical (Egyptian) religious practices to the new, Olympian Gods (Wikipedia)—their true nature within the poem is only discovered when contrasted with contemporary humanity.  For example, the excerpt, ``To get oil from underground, the drillhands say, / ‘you have to keep it alive,” demonstrates our connection with the natural (exhaustible) world.  Even though the oil and natural gas industry is responsible for Alberta’s current economic situation, one cannot forget that such resources are finite.  As such, the symbolism elicited by “the metal bones of some strange beast / trapped in a tar sand” draws one’s imagination to the prehistoric fates of the dinosaurs—focalized by their destruction, entombed by their tragedy.  It seems as though Alice Major is suggesting that keeping the oil and gas industry “alive” will eventually lead to economic stagnation and environmental deflation.  The consequences of which (though romantic and arguably hyperbolic) could parallel those of the dinosaurs.

                In my opinion, both Janus and the sphinx of Thebes are representative of the middle-ground between past and present—it is their prerogative to allow, or prevent, time’s linear progression.  If one considers that “the monster is a mirror of ourselves,” then one must also consider humanities role in “new beginnings.”  Similar to the riddle posited by the sphinx of Thebes; the answer lies with human beings.  To escape the throngs of our history, it seems we need to start asking the right questions.  After all, we as a species hold the key to our fate, we are the gatekeepers—as such we have to ask:

                Who comes to enter through these gates?

                What brings you? What do you bear?

                What will you bury here?

                What will you keep alive? (Major)   

The Constraints of Traditional Cartography

                After walking a classmate’s map, and reading the accompanying commentary, I couldn’t help but consider the shared experience of space and mapping.  In my opinion many cartographers—including myself as it turns out—choose to map a space they know intimately.  With respect to treasure maps, or directional maps for that matter, such a process makes sense.  That is to say, it would be difficult to plot the geographic and natural locators necessary to establish oneself, without already knowing their unique existence.  Such an idea seems obvious; yet one cannot forget that many maps are not retraced by their original cartographer.  What seems important to consider, then, is how prepared pathways can effect individual interpretations of space.

                To borrow from an old adage, you cannot see the forest for the trees.  In other words, maps can only ever truly plot one interpretation of space; thus, if one focuses oneself on the specific details (or locators) of maps, then one risks missing the bigger picture...

                 ....are you focused on the means or the end of a map? Should one focus on the goal, or the journey necessary to reach that goal?

                To return to the prospect of “treasure” or “destination” mapping, I would like to consider the individual who engages in metal detection.  In many respects, there is a ritualism associated with cartography, which, in my opinion, ostensibly deals with the end and not the means.  Contrary to this method, the metal detector undoubtedly relishes in the means, not destination, of his/her travels.  There is no map, no specific location, and no plotted pathway—the individual goes where he/she pleases.  In my opinion, this freedom allows an individual to experience the “bigger picture” of space and environment in a way that traditional cartography cannot.

How I met the city of Edmonton

                For this week’s posting I have decided to move away from the traditional blog prompt and discuss something more pertinent to me at this time.  The opportunity to think critically, conceptually and creatively about mapping urban spaces was something I have put a great deal of time and effort into.   To be honest, I must have gone over 20 different ideas about what to map as I wanted to be both unique and authoritative in my analysis.  This task, however, proved to be more difficult than I had initially anticipated.  On the one hand, I started to realize that the uniqueness of my project could not compromise my authority on the chosen space of analysis.  Naturally, this led to further complications as I began to realize that I have occupied limited space beyond the normative boundaries of my direct environment.  I needed a different approach.  Well, I began to think, what do I know about the city of Edmonton?

The answer was simple enough.

                Over the past four years, the essence of my social life (with exception to playing basketball) has been confined to a space between 104^th avenue and Whyte Avenue.  From work, to school, to friends and colleagues, my entire Edmonton experience has ostensibly been restricted to this small portion of the city.  So, why not write about what I know? 

                Each day, weather permitting, I take the same path to and from school.  Each weekend, weather permitting, I take the same path to and from Whyte Avenue.  This journey, moreover, has basically defined my experience with city space in Edmonton and, needless to say, it means a great deal to me.  Though I admit the uniqueness of my project was compromised, I nevertheless believe the authority and experience I have with this space cannot be overlooked.  Furthermore, I must admit that I relished the opportunity to document a journey that has been so much a part of my life and my university experience.  The fact that I will be able to take these pictures, descriptions and emotions with me is extraordinary, and, who knows, maybe someday I will be able to share my Edmonton experience with my children who are dying to know...

                                                                                                    ...what was it like living in Edmonton? 

Rediscovering Reading

                In many ways this course has been a culmination of what I was expecting to gain from my English degree and, needless to say, I have thoroughly enjoyed it thus far.  Minister Faust perhaps summed it up best for me when he said, “reading and literature should be fun; thus, if you’re not having fun you shouldn’t be doing it.”  It’s hard to admit, but reading—at least materials derived from an English syllabus—was losing its allure.  After four years of studying novels, poetry and short stories (among other various genres) I found myself withdrawn and stylistically overwhelmed.

                  It seemed to me that the course materials selected dealt more with the pomp and status of reading (Faust’s impersonations of scholastic elitism were priceless), than they did with literature’s true purpose—enjoyment.  Why read something that is dreadfully boring and historically disengaged?  To broaden one’s horizons?  To give perspective on places, histories and civilizations one would otherwise not have access to? Perhaps.

                And perhaps such a contention can be granted.  In my opinion, however, literature is more effectively utilized when one is actually enjoying what one is reading.  To do this, contextually relevant material is, at least for me; paramount.   I have always had difficulty accessing a story that was written centuries before my time.  Though I am a student of history, scholastic knowledge can never translate into personal experience or emotion.  The way I think, act and feel about the world around me relates much better to contemporary fiction than it does to historical relativity.   

                As mentioned above, this will most likely be the last English course I ever take—though I said the same thing last semester—as this is my final term at the University of Alberta.  I cannot stress enough how refreshing it is to be reading enjoyable stories once again, and having the opportunity to actually meet the authors who stand behind these great pieces of literature.  I feel reinvigorated and look forward to entering the “real world” with my new found respect for the power of literature.