Okay, hear me out:
One day in 2020, after reading A Raisin in the Sun,
A student closed the book and paused.
She looked at the desk with consideration. Then she looked up and asked,
“Ms. Vaughan, is most American literature about a family who is working through their shit?”
*laughter* “That’s an interesting observation.”
“Of Mice and Men wasn’t about a family family, but you could say that Lenny and George were brothers.”
“Yeah…”
“Why do you think that is? You think it’s because our families fuck us up?” *nervous laughter*
“You know that’s not all true…”
“Yeah, you’re right. Nothing is ever purely good or bad…what’s that book that you were telling us about that you used to read in Year 2? The Sound and the Fury? That’s about a fucked up family, too. Right?”
…
What I do know and didn’t say is that most American literature is usually about a family because it's the most universal relationship that someone can have. And even when we think we cannot relate to any family, if the writer or artist or director has done their job with heart and authenticity, we’re gonna find a way to relate to that family. That’s how art works, right? It makes our world bigger because we see how other people live, but it also makes the world a little smaller and less scary because we see that the way people live is not that different from our own. Or, the impulses and desires are the same: to be loved, valued, and able to maintain deep relationships. But what are we also learning to value? Who do we learn deserves love? And do we ever really learn how to develop a strong healthy relationship or are we regularly given examples of "how not to act" throughout most American literature?
When I watched Succession early in the pandemic, I was annoyed at watching a show about rich people. I hate quitting things because a high school English teacher once told me that I can’t judge anything until I’m done reading or watching it. So, I stuck with it. But, as an English teacher, if I’m consuming something that I think sucks, I’m going to analyze the shit out of it. With Succession, the more I watched, the more I couldn’t help but think that the Roys are much like William Faulkner’s Compson family. They are both wealthy families with concern about legacy and power and how to manage a transition (Now, if you’re thinking, “Nichole, you’re high. Reconstruction is a vastly different transition than a family who is wondering who will manage its toxic media empire,” you’re right and I agree). Yet, the urge to remain relevant and the scheming for power that complements that urge as well as the anger, betrayal, and abandonment of morals (or maybe flex that there are no morals?) that comes along with it is present in both the Roys and Compsons. The family compositions are very similar, too. There are three brothers, one sister, a disconnected and tough (in the truest sense of the word meaning the opposite of tender) mother, and a father who has traumatized the family with his cynicism. While society progresses and the family clings to its traditions and past.
A while back, I was struggling with the defense of reading more diverse books. Not because I don’t believe that it is necessary, but because it felt shallow to me. It often went like this, “It will build empathy for other people.” “Other people” rang in my ears and in the moment, I couldn’t articulate why that didn’t feel like a good enough reason. The more I sat with it, the more I thought about, “Well, if we’re not reading diverse books, then who are we actually building empathy for?” Students, for years, were taught to feel bad for the predominantly white characters in novels and plays, learning how to have empathy for the powerful (Macbeth), the greedy (The Great Gatsby), and the outwardly racist (The Sound and the Fury). Don’t get me wrong, I actually think that this is a great skill to have, but what are we doing if we’re telling students that those people actually don’t deserve to fail even though they are pretty terrible people? Who have we suggested deserves the most empathy through the teaching of these texts? And when we defend a text by saying “it embodies the universal human experience” I know there are elements of truth to that, but I also can’t help but feel skepticism about the “universal human experience” and who it has been built around and for.
The more I think about it, the more I think that Succession is American literature because it captures a family who meets its demise because of its reluctance to move forward and progress, greedily clinging to its past, hoping to carry its power and corruption into to the future and makes several attempts to do so in the most private and public ways, and all along showing us that any realization of success and wealth is to ensure the suffering of others.
There are several ways to tell this story (HBO, or should I say, MAX, essentially took the same plot line and family dynamic from Succession and applied it to their show The Righteous Gemstones), and I worry that at the cost of my hasty generalization that they are all the same. Whether these families are making us laugh or making us stare in disgust and interest, we’re caught between the most powerful people being absolutely absurd and/or they act starving for power.
See also: Arrested DevelopmentSee also: Arrested Development as Succession and Succession as Arrested Development
(more, not fully thought out comparisons: Kendall’s character development throughout the series and final walk down the Hudson River can be compared to the end of Quentin’s section, the incest-driven jokes from Roman to Shiv can be compared to the brothers’ sexualizing Caddy throughout the novel; Shiv’s desire to be free from the family and her husband that she married for convenience can be compared to Caddy running away; Caroline Compson’s wallowing can be compared to Caroline Collingwood’s lack of any maternal instinct to her children; Connor Roy’s drive to be president can be compared to Jason Compson’s overestimation of self and entitlement; the nuclear narrative rarely allows us to see anything beyond the family)
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