Summary of The Deadline essays by Jill Lepore E-Book

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• Herausgeber: BookRix
• Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

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Summary of The Deadline essays by Jill Lepore

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Jill Lepore, a renowned historian and writer, has contributed significantly to public discourse with her insightful essays in The Deadline. Lepore's work explores topics such as lockdowns, race commissions, and the loss of life, highlighting the nation's techno-utopianism, frantic fractiousness, and unprecedented aimlessness. The Deadline challenges the nature of the essay and history by striking a balance between political and personal aspects, showcasing Lepore's exceptional skills and insights.

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Summary of The Deadline essays by Jill Lepore

Jill Lepore, a renowned historian and writer, contributes to public discourse with her insightful essays in The Deadline, highlighting the nation's techno-utopianism, fractiousness, and aimlessness.BookRix GmbH & Co. KG81371 Munich

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The Deadline

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Summary of Jill Lepore’s Essays

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Summary of The Deadline: Essays by Jill Lepore

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Introduction

The author, who never set out to study history, has been struggling with the conventions of the discipline of history. They have tried to write history differently, but the buttoned-up conventions of the discipline bugged them. They started with a dissertation about the eighteenth-century culture of seduction, but later decided to write a dissertation about a seventeenth-century war. When they got a job as an assistant professor, they learned that it was crucial to hide their children. After getting tenure, they started to wobble on that commitment, but they were also planning to quit and stay home.

In 2009, the author wrote a five-thousand-word essay called "Baby Food" about the history of breastfeeding, which led to readers outing themselves as a human being. In 2011, she described Benjamin Franklin's remarks at the Constitutional Convention in an essay about the U.S. Constitution. The domestic metaphors and maternal asides became a compulsion, the unmasking of myself as a person who spends most of her time cooking, quilting, nursing, gardening, shoveling snow, and doing laundry. After her parents died, in 2012, she wrote an essay called "Prodigal Daughter," and in 2019, on the twentieth anniversary of a death that shattered her life, she wrote "The Deadline," the title essay of her book. The author's struggle with the conventions of history and her own experiences with writing has shaped her writing style and perspective on the subject.

This collection of essays, organized into ten parts, explores the relationship between the American past and its violent present. The essays focus on the hold of the dead over the living, the tug of time, and the relationship between the past and the present. The essays explore topics such as polarization, disruptive innovation, torture, impeachment, race-riot commissions, and the impact of technology, culture, and constitutional rule. The collection is influenced by the author's own life and the experiences of life under COVID. The essays were written during a period of tragic decline in the United States, marked by rising political violence, culture war, constitutional crises, climate change, and a global pandemic.

The author used scholarship and archival evidence to provide insights into the present and the past. The collection was written during a time when the author was writing and revising a sweeping history of the United States, These Truths.

A "dead line" was once an invisible fence around a prison, but it became a time by which one had to finish something or lose their job in the early twentieth century. The author enjoys writing on deadlines, but they are also haunted by the river of time that divides the quick from the dead and the remains left behind. The author's writings from these places reflect a red thread, a worry about rule, power distribution, and the justness of a written constitution. In 1798, American writer Charles Brockden Brown published a story about a learned lady who was a Federalist and advocate of the Constitution. She argued that women were excluded from political rights without the least ceremony and that law-makers thought they were pigs or sheep.

The author, who was a feminist, refused to accept a constitution that failed to count her as a human being. The author's writings reflect the ongoing struggle for women's rights and the importance of understanding the complexities of society.

Part One

Prodigal Daughter

PRODIGAL DAUGHTER

The author describes her mother's life as a devout Catholic who lived in a small town in Massachusetts. She was a talented artist who painted every cabinet, stitched quilts, and built dollhouses out of shoeboxes. She was married to her father, a junior high school principal, and they had a strong bond.

The author's mother was born in 1706 in Boston, and her sister Jane was born in 1712. They had a close bond, with their childhood being characterized by harmony and harmony. Benjamin Franklin, born in 1706 in Boston, was the youngest of his father's ten sons. His sister Jane was born in 1712, and they were the youngest of their father's seven daughters.

The author's mother never heard of Jane Franklin when she lived on Franklin Street. She was introduced to her name on a library floor, and she was everywhere in her life. They were both very similar, with their lives being different. Boys were taught to read and write, girls to read and stitch, and three in five women in New England couldn't even sign their names. Writing was an art, and Benjamin Franklin taught his sister how to write with wit, force, and style.

The author's mother's love for Benjamin Franklin and her sister Jane were deeply ingrained in their lives, and their bond was a testament to the power of love and the power of family.

In 1723, Benjamin Franklin ran away from his life in Boston, leaving his wife Jane Franklin to raise her children. Jane Franklin became a printer, philosopher, statesman, and wife, and she signed the Declaration of Independence, the Treaty of Paris, and the Constitution. She wrote the story of her life, which was an allegory about America. Jane Franklin never wrote the story of her life, but she did stitch four sheets of foolscap between two covers to make a little book of sixteen pages. The book of Ages was written in a lavish, calligraphic letter B, a graceful, slender, and artful A. She learned this lettering from a writing manual like The American Instructor: Or, Young Man’s Best Companion.

Jane Franklin never ran away and never wrote the story of her life. She did once stitch four sheets of foolscap between two covers to make a little book of sixteen pages. The book of Ages lists her birthdate, her marriage, and her death. The book of Ages is a testament to the importance of preserving the lives of those who have passed away.

Remains of a life include unpublished papers, descendants, and unpublished papers. The Boston Puritan poet Anne Bradstreet wrote about her children as “my little babes, my dear remains,” but her words were all that her children would have left of her. Jane's words were all that her children would, one day, have left of her.

In the 1980s, the author took a job as a secretary to pursue her passion for writing. She was sick of silence, attics, and wallpaper, and wanted to study war, investigate atrocity, and write about politics. However, her mother pressed her to write about Jane Franklin, who she admired for her humor, generosity, and fortune.

The author's mother and father became tangled up, and the author admired Jane Franklin. Jane had a daughter named Abiah Franklin, and her husband, Josiah Franklin, died in 1744. She gave her portion of the estate to her, and her mother wrote a letter to her son, Benjamin Franklin, expressing her grief and blessings.

Jane's baby, Abiah Mecom, died within the year, and her mother died in 1752. Benjamin Franklin paid for a gravestone and wrote an epitaph, stating that he and his wife, Abiah Franklin, lived happily together in Wisconsin for fifty-five years.

The author's mother's heart began to fail, and she had a heart attack, surgery, and a defibrillator implanted in her chest. The author's mother would visit her in the hospital, but she would send her away. The author's life plan was narrow and hackneyed, and she longed to study war, investigate atrocities, and write about politics.

In 1758, Jane Mecom wrote a letter to Franklin's wife, Deborah, expressing her frustration with her writing and the lack of proper expression. She was in a great wash, with her lodgers Sarah and Edward sick. Jane had heard rumors about Benjamin Franklin's baronetcy and was told to send her congratulations soon. She wanted to be carried away, out of her house and into the world. She loved gossip and wanted to know more about her husband and children, as her mother used to write her.

Jane was not a letter writer, and her brother warned her that she was too free with him. She confessed that she was too dictatorial and that she was always too proud of her writing. He teased her for being too dictatorial, claiming that she wrote better than most American women.

The difficulty of her writing and her lack of formality made it difficult for her brother to understand what she meant. She worried that her brother would not understand what she meant, and she hoped to find out what she meant. However, the difficulty of her writing made it difficult for her brother to understand what she meant.

In the 1760s, Jane's family was sick, and her daughter Sally died. She took in Sally's four young children, followed by her husband and her favorite daughter. She wrote in her Book of Ages, "The Lord Giveth & the Lord taketh away," and never wrote again.

In 1775, Jane Franklin left home due to her despair and began to question her own life. She sought to read all the political pieces written by her brother, and he sent her a collection of his past writings. She left home in 1775 and lived with her brother in Philadelphia. After the war, she spent the war as a fugitive. When peace came, he returned to Philadelphia and she moved to Boston.

He gave her a house in the North End, and she enjoyed it. She wrote down her opinions, but she couldn't stop writing. In 1786, she asked for her brother's acceptance of the government of the state, fearing it would fatigue her. She asked for his new alphabet and the Petition of the Letter Z. Franklin proposed a new alphabet, which Jane found cunning, especially since she was a writer of old age and couldn't learn. He told her that bad spelling is generally the best, and he told her a story about a gentleman who receives a note stating that he delivered his wife's message to his wife. Jane loved this story and thought Sir & Madam were deficient in sagacity, but sometimes the Betys had the brightest understanding.

Jane, a Welsh clergyman and political radical, read Richard Price's Four Dissertations at the age of seventy-four. She believed that life is fated by Providence, but that suffering is fair and can be protested. Jane wrote a letter to her brother, stating that many people, including Boyles, Clarks, and Newtons, have probably been lost to the world and lived and died in ignorance and meanness. Jane believed that very few people could beat all obstacles and achieve any degree of superiority in understanding.

Benjamin Franklin and his sister knew that very few ever succeeded. Jane died four years later, aged eighty-three. She believed that the most insignificant creature on Earth could be made useful in the scale of beings. She waited too long to write the only book her mother ever wanted her to write. She buried her father and ordered a single gravestone with both their names.

She read her mother's letters and told stories, including a mourning ring and a portrait of Jane's favorite granddaughter, Jenny. After her death, she died unexpectedly and alone at home. She kept her paintbrushes in glass jars in her old bedroom.

The author finished the last revisions, but it was too late for her to read it. She wrote the dedication, "Their youngest daughter. In filial regard. Places this stone."

THE DEADLINE

The author describes her experience of sewing her first son's first snowsuit during pregnancy, during the harsh winter months leading up to the end of the world. She sewed the jackets and stuffed bears for him, and the doctor had to unzip the baby out of her. Her best friend, Jane, was on her deathbed, and they were historians. In 2019, twenty years after her birth, the author opened her computer to honor her anniversary. Jane had left a Macintosh PowerBook 160, which she had left to her in her will.

The computer broke, and the author plugged in a power cord to fix it. The screen blinked, and the author discovered that her hard drive had been named Cooper for her dog.

The author began an inquest into her brain, searching for "transitions notes" on a book by William Bridges called "Transitions: Making Sense of Life's Changes." She found that endings were like little deaths, and they can be entrances to the beginning of a new life. The computer began to bleat, and the author began to question whether she had lost her baby.

The author recalls the pain and cold, the membrane, and the first convulsion of grief. The author doesn't remember the rest of the story. The author's experiences with the snowsuits and her own experiences with transitions and joblessness serve as reminders of the importance of embracing change and the potential for new beginnings.

Jane was a wonderful person who took care of me after my wedding. She stayed with us in a two-story cottage on an island, and we met during our first week of graduate school. She was a brilliant and irresistible person, with a wide range of interests and personalities. She was a big-hearted cynic with spiritual leanings and roving intellect, passionate about books, music, and my New York Times. We discussed politics, elections, war, and other topics, but writing was what she could not do.

When I finished my dissertation, she left graduate school and spent a year at an ashram. She wrote to me after we started emailing, expressing her desire to finish her dissertation, become a writer, and have children. She was the how, the why, the rush, and the fire. Jane never got to do any of the things we both wanted, only I did.

In 1997, Jane, a woman with leukemia, faced a series of treatments and a near-blackout. Her cells and selves divided, and she was diagnosed with leukemia. The author, who was with her through the treatments, was with her through ultrasounds and the baby's first kicks. In 1998, she considered an experimental bone-marrow transplant, but living through it was not the definition of success. When she was sure she could not survive, she decided to refuse to die until her baby came.

This decision brought unbearable pain, and the author's pain was not entirely hers. The year was a near-blackout, but she endured the pain and the pain of her baby. After a bone marrow transplant failed, she left the hospital and moved to live at her friend Denise's house. On April 1, 1999, she couldn't speak in sentences, and the author's contractions began. The hospital sewed her up, and friends took a picture of the baby the minute he came out.

They drove that hundred miles, childbed to deathbed, and showed Jane the photograph. Denise says she knew, she saw, she heard, she smiled, and then she died. The author's grief and the loss of her daughter were deeply ingrained in her life.

Twenty years ago, the author was a writer who had lost her baby and was unable to attend a conference. She felt a sense of guilt for not attending the award ceremony, but she decided to attend Jane's memorial service instead. The feminism of writers who are mothers is forbidden, but the motherhood of scholars is forbidden. She tried attending conferences but was rejected by her fellow scholar, who accused her of being an intellectual manqué. She got pregnant again and continued writing a second book, hoping to get tenure or quit. She adopted two new rules: never read a review and never show your colleagues your soft belly.

She got tenure, but she missed her unfinished dissertation and stitched quilts for her boys. She pushed them around the city in their double stroller, telling them stories about Jane. She also drove the boys to their day care center in snowsuits and blankets, but the car got stuck in ice and snow, causing her to collapse sobbing. She went to California to find a job in a place with no snow, where she was writing a book about slavery. A professor arranged for her to meet him at his apartment to show him his rare books.

The professor showed her his inscribed first edition of My Bondage and My Freedom, but he had been banned from campus. She felt sorry for him and decided against California.

The author takes a different job and moves closer to preschool, focusing on writing essays and essays about everything she thought Jane might have wanted to do. She writes about everything she thought Jane might have wanted to but never did, never could, never would. She keeps Jane's picture on her desk and has a baby who nurses every forty-five minutes. She has a long history of writing books, but she is tired of writing them. Ten years after Jane's death, the author had a big birthday party and a big archival box, but she never found her.

The author still misses their baby feet, patter, and the piffle of childhood. She writes a long book, a debt paid, and is tired of writing books. When her mother was the age I am now, she decided to clean the house, purging it of everything no longer needed. She discarded an old coat box filled with baby books she had painstakingly kept, and she threw away the record of our childhood. The author questions why all the sad songs about children don't come next, and the author keeps a box of her sons' knitted sweaters in the closet. She decides to stow Jane's computer, black and white and gray, in the closet, hoping it will not power on in 2029.

EASY RIDER

The author's first bicycle was a Tyke Bike, which had four wheels and no pedals. It was a scooter, but the author claims it was the swankiest bicycle they have ever ridden. The bike was owned by their brother, Jack, sister, cousins, neighbors, and family from Our Lady of Good Counsel. The bike had scuffed paint, leopard spots, and missing handlebar grips, which led to the author's first bike hack.

The author's current bicycle, the Cannondale Bad Boy, is said to be cloaked in "urban armor" and designed for "traffic-slaying performance." However, the author has never slain any traffic. The author has always been an unhurried bicyclist, something between deliberate and fretful.

The author's current bicycle is the Cannondale Bad Boy, which is said to be cloaked in "urban armor" and built for "traffic-slaying performance." The author has never slain anything on the bike, and the author has always been an Old Woman.

Bikes are the workhorses of the world's transportation system, with more people getting places by bicycle than by any other means. They can travel four times faster on a bicycle than on foot, using only a fifth of the exertion. People all over the world, especially outside Western Europe and North America, use bicycles for school, work, transport goods, cart passengers, and plow fields.

The author believes that for every car on earth, there are two bikes, one for every four people. However, roads, parking lots, and cities are still built for cars, even though they are wrecking the world. The author believes that two wheels are better than two wings and that humans on bicycles beat even birds in the efficiency of locomotion.

The bicentennial of the bicycle dates back to 1817, when Baron Karl von Drais invented the Laufmaschine, or running machine, as a substitute for horses due to a climate crisis. The Laufmaschine had a wooden frame, a leather saddle, two in-line wheels, and no pedals, allowing a full-grown man to pick up pretty good speed. In England, Laufmaschinen were called "swiftwalkers." The history of bicycles has been marked by ontogeny, with modern swiftwalkers being marketed as "wooden balance bikes." Bicyclists have been riding throughout the history of bicycles, starting with a red metal tricycle at age three. The Big Wheel, a two-wheeled bicycle, was a prototype of every modern bicycle, with safety being the prototype. During the bike craze of the 1890s, bicycles became an emblem of modernity, symbolizing the cult of speed, lightness of being, desire for existential freedom, and celebration of the future. The safety was the prototype of every modern bicycle, and most everything added to the bicycle since is just tinkering around the edges.

Bicycling has been a significant aspect of human history, with its freedom and power being particularly meaningful to girls and women. Bicycling has been used to emancipate women and have been favored by colonial officials during the age of empire. The bicycle has also been used in warfare on six continents and were favored by colonial officials during the age of empire.

In the 1890s, the bicycle seemed to beat out the horse due to its quieter and cleaner nature. However, the automobile replaced the bicycle, and the Uniform Vehicle Code (UVC) was introduced in 1926 to regulate bicycles. The UVC treats bicycles as cars that go too slow, and E. B. White protested, calling for a network of permanent bicycle paths.

By the 1950s, when the League of American Wheelmen disbanded and bicycles were excluded from many roads, bikes were reinvented as toys and child's play. Grownups drove cars, while kids rode bikes. Girls were supposed to ride girls' bikes, but the price of being a girl and the vulnerability of being a girl made them more scared of cars. The deafening roar of engines, impossible speed, cruelty of steel, and the inescapable menace of airplanes made riding a bike feel like being a bird flying in a sky filled with airplanes. Black duct tape is no defense, but it is all one can find in the kitchen drawer.

The author recalls their first bike accident, a collision with a station wagon and a truck. The bicycle boom in America, the largest since the 1890s, took place in the 1970s, with bike sales rising from nine million in 1971 to fourteen million in 1972. The automobile lobby bulldozed through state legislatures, and most proposals for bicycle infrastructure had been abandoned. The author's family of bicycles continued to grow, with two unicycles hanging from hooks in their bike shed. The latest bicycle boom began with the pandemic, with New York City declaring bicycle-repair shops "essential businesses" in March 2020.

Pop-up bicycle lanes opened in cities worldwide, and roads were closed to cars and opened for bicycles. More people riding bikes meant more bicycle accidents, with the rate of bicycle fatalities doubled. The author argues that the bike boom of the pandemic was a lot like the worldwide rewilding caused by bears, cougars, and bicycles on highways. The author is avoiding the inevitable e-bike and still rides his old Bad Boy, slowpoke and getting slower every year.

THE EVERYMAN LIBRARY

The author's father, Giovanni Lepore, had a story about his father, Nicola Sacco and Bartolomeo Vanzetti, who were arrested, tried, convicted, and executed for a crime they didn't commit. They had worked together in Clinton, Massachusetts, building a railroad and living in Little Italy. The author's grandfather, who had immigrated to the United States in 1907, joined the U.S. Army in 1919 and became an American citizen. He had strong views about the exploitation of immigrants and had a strong opinion about the exploitation of immigrants.

The author's grandfather died during the Great Depression, and his grandmother, tristissima, had an old photograph of his grandfather pasted in next to her. The author never fact-checked the Sacco and Vanzetti story with their grandmother, as they had a hard time with each other. The author believes that their grandfather read the same books and came to the same conclusions.

Nicola Sacco and his father grew up in Clinton, with no heating or plumbing in their house. They had no heating or plumbing in their house, and they had no heating or plumbing. After the war, he joined the army and attended Clark University in Worcester. The author's father hitchhiked to college, working at a bookbindery to be close to books.

The author's father, who had never been a writer, had a deep love for antique medicinals and had a history of war. He was a public school teacher, guidance counselor, and guide, and his father's library was filled with books. His father's college transcript revealed that every book he owned was a book he bought for a class. The most marked-up book in his father's library was an edition of Virgil's Aeneid, which he read for a class called Roman Civilization. The book is bound in green cloth and has a black leather insert on the cover. The author describes his father's love for the story of Aeneas, a fated wanderer from the coasts of Troy to Italy, and how he found a story of himself and his past in Virgil.

The author's father, who never knew toothpaste as a child, had all his teeth pulled by the U.S. Army. He wore dentures from the age of eighteen and would pretend to be a monster. He carried those books in a rucksack, rereading them, borrowing them, and passing them on as gifts. The author carries these books as a scroll, opening up the child of a whole family, each of its ancestors.

Part Two

Misjudged