Herrnstein, Richard and Murray, Charles. (1994). The Bell Curve: Class Structure and the Future of America. Reviewed by John C. Culbertson, University of Kansas

	Herrnstein, Richard and Murray, Charles. (1994). The Bell Curve: Class Structure and the Future of America. New York: The Free Press. 845 pp. $30       ISBN 0-02-914673-9 Reviewed by John C. Culbertson University of Kansas December 25, 2001 Occasionally a book out of academia will break from scholarly circles and enter into the mainstream market. On even rarer occasions, it will gain considerable notoriety before its initial publication. Richard Herrnstein and Charles Murray's The Bell Curve: Intelligence and Class Structure in American Life is such a book. Currently, it has entered the New York Times best- sellers list and appeared in most academic and mainstream periodical book reviews. Direct publicity for the book has also been strong. Although Herrnstein died September 24 of the past year, Murray has appeared on many popular television and radio talk shows. Since so much has already been written and said about this book, it would seem redundant to give merely a brief review of the work. Ironically, with so much being said about its content and implications, very little depth has been offered regarding the fundamental presuppositions and implications that the study entails. When examining the findings of Herrnstein and Murray, an obvious question arises: What are the scientific merits of their discoveries? From this question, two elements will be analyzed in this essay: (1) the notion of race as a legitimate category; and (2) intelligence as an understandable phenomenon. If the scientific status of these elements is clearly discreditable, another question arises: What is the ideological purpose of such a study? As a conclusion, I will offer some final thoughts relevant to the book as a whole. It should be understood that the entire book is not dedicated to ethnicity and intelligence. The latter half of the book addresses this notion, but the first half outlines the basis of an emerging cognitive elite among white America and how that has contributed to the separation of the cognitive classes. The last two chapters (around 20 pages) set the ideology to solving the problems that are recognized in the study. It is also interesting how Herrnstein and Murray respond to criticism of incoherence and contradictions of their work. On recent radio and television talk shows Murray has stated that it is unimportant if the cause of lower IQ's originates from cultural suppression or genetic endowment. This logically tautological stance undermines the fundamental question at hand, but at the same time (unintentionally?) exposes the main ideological purposes of the book. It should also be noted that Herrnstein and Murray seem to acknowledge their particular ideological scheme and state many times in the book that their conjectures (and even scientific evidence) are not written in stone. With 552 pages of text, 110 pages of appendices, 168 pages of notes and a 57 page bibliography, The Bell Curve does not make for leisurely reading, as one might have expected from its popularity. But, even with its length, the book is well written and appropriately organized, with one appendix completely dedicated to those who do not thoroughly understand the sophistication of statistical measurement (entitled Statistics for People Who Are Sure They Cant Learn Statistics). The grammatical style of the book also suggests that Herrnstein and Murray had the mainstream market in mind; sentences are short and simple. Race, Intelligence and Ideology The category of racial separation has a peculiar history. The ancient Athenians considered anyone who could not speak Greek an inferior barbarian. Even the advanced civilizations found in Egypt and Persia were thought of as inferior for their lack of Greek ideals, education and culture. Similar conjectures were fabricated by the Romans regarding the Goths, Vandals and Huns. During the 18th and early 19th century, it was common for Europeans to refer to racial disunion in relation to geographic locality, (e.g., British race, French race, etc). Over 100 years ago the "Chinaman" was described by Westerners as an inferior race (Clairmonte, 1970). Arthur de Gobineau published The Inequality of Human Races in 1853, which asserted that the Aryan race is the derivative of civilized man and the purity of the race can only be preserved if the blood of Aryans is maintained. Similar notions were expressed by Houston Chamberlain of Germany in the 1913 work, Foundations of the Nineteenth Century. The measurement of intelligence has also had a peculiar history ranging from the number of bumps on the head to the volume of the cranium (Gould, 1981). Ideas like these are clearly devoid of any scientific value, and most people today give them very little consideration. But even with this understanding, the notion of race is still conventionally recognized as a legitimate category. In their hypothesis of differentiating innate structures in intelligence as represented by race, Murray and Herrnstein propose a stance similar to the speculations expressed above, but now such statements are supported through the justification of "scientific proof." Given the polemic nature of such a study and its purported findings, the responses to the work have been mixed. Some condemn Murray and Herrnstein for being blatant racists with no regard for the legitimate canons of scientific method. Others have criticized the conclusions, but support such research in the name of academic freedom. With the prominence that scientific inquiry holds in this age, a thorough investigation into the scientific merit of The Bell Curve is in order. A clear place to begin is with the category of race and the phenomenon of intelligence itself. What has been scientifically demonstrated or even plausibly argued in this respect? Herrnstein and Murray do not consistently use the term "race." Due to its pejorative connotations they intermittently employ the word "ethnicity." Likewise, the phenomenon of intelligence carries with it "undue affect and political baggage" (p. 22). Subsequently, "we shall employ the more neutral term cognitive ability" (p. 22). With little supporting argument, they declare that the category of ethnicity is legitimate and valid. It is appropriate, by the fact that, clearly, "There are differences between races, and they [the differences] are the rule, not the exception" (p. 272). Put simply, "Races are by definition groups of people who differ in characteristic ways" (p. 272). They also state, that "The rule we follow here is to classify people according to the way they classify themselves" (p. 271). Regarding the nature of cognitive ability, "we will be drawing heavily from the classical tradition" (p. 19). The classicists "seek to identify the components of intelligence much as physicists seek to identify the structure of the atom" (p. 14). The classicists are for practical purposes unanimous in accepting that G [general factor of intelligence] sit at the center of the structure in a dominating position-not just as an artifact of statistical manipulation but as an expression of a core human mental ability. (p. 14) The notion of G was invented by Charles Spearman, a British Army officer and statistician whose research was conducted during the early part of this century (Spearman, 1904). A fundamental conclusion regarding the classical tradition claims that, "All standardized tests of academic aptitude or achievement measure this general factor to some degree, but IQ tests expressly designed for that purpose measure it more accurately" (p. 22). Questions regarding cognitive ability in relation to ethnic differences are justified because, basically "race is on peoples minds when they think about IQ" (p. 272), regardless of what the "intellectual elite" purport (pp. 11-13). Intellectual fashion has dictated that all differences [in intelligence] must be denied except the absolutely undeniable differences in appearance, but nothing in biology says this should be so. (p. 272) Furthermore, "We are worried that the elite wisdom on this issue, for years almost hysterically in denial about that possibility [the genetic factor], will snap too far in the other direction" (p. 315). It is a fact, Herrnstein and Murray assert, that, "IQ is substantially heritable" (p. 105). They claim that it is also certain that "Races differ not just in average IQ scores but in the profile of intellectual capacities, (as represented by the aggregate of many sub-tests)" (p. 299). There are several factors that support this notion even though it is not going to be learned "tomorrow that all the cognitive differences between races are 100 percent genetic in origin" (p. 315). Social problems are thus prevalent among people who have low cognitive abilities. Poverty, school dropout, unemployment, crime, welfare, illegitimacy, single-parent families, low birth- weight babies and deprived home environments are inevitable consequences of a growing lower cognitive class (pp. 369-386 & 523-526). Solutions to crime and welfare "must be judged by their effectiveness with the people most likely to exhibit the problem: The least intelligent people" (p. 386). From this loosely knit rationale, Herrnstein and Murray conclude that members of the "cognitive elite class, who measure in the top percentiles of cognitive ability, are thus becoming increasingly isolated" and "a deteriorating quality of life for people at the bottom end of the cognitive ability distribution has occurred over the better portion of this century" (p. 50). "How should policy deal with the twin realities that people differ in intelligence for reasons that are not their fault, and that intelligence has a powerful bearing on how well people do in life?" (p. 527). Declarations of the kind expressed above fall into two general types. The first deal with what has been discovered concerning the scientific legitimacy of the category of race. The second address the phenomenon of intelligence and the possibility of both measuring it validly and of relating it to race. Within both of these types of assertions, the expected social results (i.e., the social ills caused by a growing ethnic group of low cognitive ability) are also addressed, along with an ideology for solutions to these problems. The Category of Race Clearly, statements of the first kind can be judged by scientific evidence or rational arguments. Murray and Herrnstein, however, offer no evidence and only an unclear rationale for employing the category. Without justification they dogmatically adopt the category along with its dubious history outlined above. Furthermore, as it will become clear with more specific illustrations, any attempt to unpack the concept of racial distinction turns into incoherence and equivocation. The specific claim of dividing people up by physical characteristics is utterly ambiguous. Are Herrnstein and Murray saying that the pigmentation of skin and facial structure are clear and distinct demarcations? If this is the case, then their "rule" can be rejected on the grounds of pure dogmatism. As geneticists have consistently demonstrated, there are no significant differences between the gene pools of "races" as we currently define them. To say that there is one sub-species or group that is more "intelligent" than another based merely on the phenotype simply does not make sense in the light of the current theories (Raven and Johnson, 1988). In fact, a greater variation in the genotype occurs between individuals of the same race (e.g., Europeans) than between the people of differing races (e.g., European "white" and "African black"). There simply are no solid theories, or consistent arguments regarding the legitimacy of the category of race in connection with intelligence. It seems absurd to base an entire study on a phenomenon that is empty of theory and argument. Perhaps Herrnstein and Murray are suggesting that skin pigmentation and facial structure are such obvious characterizations that they cannot be overlooked. If so, then other attributes cannot be overlooked either, such as height and intelligence, eye color and intelligence, weight and intelligence, and virtually every other trivial way we can classify by physical characteristics. No one would take seriously a study that proposed a causal correlation between eye color and intelligence, but people do take race and intelligence seriously, because we unfortunately live in a society that heavily discriminates against race. If the rationales that Herrnstein and Murray offer are scientifically pretentious, they are also disingenuous in their assertion that they are dividing people up as people wish to be divided up. This notion also is devoid of any scientific or argumentative merit. Arguing that a notion is valid because the majority of the people believe it is plainly fallacious. People are divided up the way they are because they are required to fill in a questionnaire that asks for "race" or "ethnicity," and which lists the classifications from which to choose. Herrnstein and Murray concede that they focus "on three major racial-ethnic groupings--whites, East Asians, and blacks-- because they have dominated both the research and contentions regarding intelligence" (p. 275). But for their argument to have any merit, they must show that there is a scientific basis for the classification as represented by the authorities in the field. Surely they are not contending that psychometricians are authorities in genetic biology. Herrnstein and Murray are completely unclear with statements like, "race differences are varied and complex, and they make the human species more adaptable and more interesting" (p. 272), and then state that, "Jews--specifically, Ashkenazi Jews of European origins--test higher than any other ethnic group" (p.275). This sounds very much like the voice of 18th and 19th century racism, dividing people up according to geographic location. Are Herrnstein and Murray claiming that Ashkenazi Jews of European origin are a clear and distinct race, separate from other Jewish people? Specificity of this nature can easily be reduced to nonsense, (e.g., Might not Italians--specifically, Brooklyn Italians of New York origin--test higher than any other ethnic group?) Surely, with the statements above, Herrnstein and Murray are referring to the varied cultural differences that make the human species more interesting, not the fact that one group of people has more or less melanin than the other. But such comments are so vague that it is unclear if their assertions about ethnicity and intelligence amount to anything at all. Consider, for example, their admission that "the differences [in cognitive ability] among individuals are far greater than the differences between groups" (p. 271). This is true whether or not ethnicity is treated as a category. As Herrnstein and Murray point out, in largely homogenous societies, there are still differences in cognitive abilities. Those differences could, with a certain degree of validity, randomly correlate with some other arbitrary physical characteristic. Furthermore, the average IQ of people within a certain ethnic category is logically unrelated to the contingencies of a particular individual. So the question remains: Why the category of race? To try and hedge this answer, as Herrnstein and Murray do, is unworthy. A distinct element in our empirical understanding of the world involves dividing phenomena into categories. Since different cultures and groups of people see the world differently, and subsequently, divide the world into different categories, the question of methodological objectivity arises in relation to the category of race or anything else. Many of these divisions and the language employed rest on the engraved conventions of the past as is the case with race, and it is unlikely that they will change quickly (this seems to be where Herrnstein and Murray find their justification). The notion seems to be an historical malady to be overcome in the same way slavery was eliminated. Much has been written on this topic in feminist epistemology in attempts to understand the bias of one's conceptual scheme with respect to objectivity in scientific understanding (Antony, 1993). I won't recount the argument here, but the consequences of the notion of race are sadly unjust and closely related to what feminist epistemology is addressing. We are constantly bombarded with applications of the category of race without justification or rationale, especially in studies of crime and anti-social behavior (another main theme of The Bell Curve). Even if one accepts the position presented in this book (i.e., that certain ethnic groups are not as intelligent as others), Herrnstein and Murray concede that "the increase in crime over the last thirty years (like the increase in illegitimacy and welfare) cannot be attributed to changes in intelligence but rather must be blamed on other factors" (p. 251). In the news we find lead stories like, "Two black youths were arrested today..." or "An Hispanic was charged with murder in the slaying of a white youth." Not only are these depictions unfair to the entire group of blacks or Hispanics, who are undeservedly associated with the one individual committing the crime, but they are also unfair to the other ethnic groups. Used in that way, race becomes a way to tell the criminals from the victims. As has been widely reported, many Caucasians feel unsafe in the presence of a black or Hispanic man. Is this caused by some genetic ethnophobia? Surely not, especially since very young children often pay no attention at all to race. We live in a culture that presupposes race as a legitimate category producing social consequences that are plainly unfair. This is even more evident when it includes the notion of inferiority. The presuppositions in The Bell Curve remind us that America is a racially separated nation, with the major distinction being drawn between European-Americans and African-Americans. Herrnstein and Murray are correct when they say, "the politics of cognitive inequality get hotter--sometimes too hot to handle--when they are attached to the politics of ethnicity" (p. 271). As many are trying to come to grips with this country's history of oppression, we are constantly reminded that the scientifically empty category of race is still one of the most prominent forces in the country. The Phenomenon of Intelligence The phenomenon of intelligence, like the category of race, is an equally obscure amalgam of complex properties, which dissolves into triviality and incoherence under examination. The tests used as tools for predictor values fail at most levels, except perhaps at measuring the ability to take tests well. Admittedly, Herrnstein and Murray state that measuring intelligence is a troublesome task, but one that has produced a great amount of knowledge regarding the phenomenon. "The individual's IQ score all by itself is a useful tool but a limited one" (p. 19). As for their claim that the "classicist" psychometricians are similar to physicists in their approach, this seems greatly to broaden the scope of what scientific methodology entails. With regards to the radicals and the theory of multiple intelligences, we share some common ground. Socially significant individual differences induce a wide range of human talents that do not fit within the classical conception of intelligence. (p. 20) "When properly administered the tests are not measurably biased against socioeconomic, ethnic, or racial subgroups. They predict a wide variety of socially acceptable important outcomes" (p. 15). For Herrnstein and Murray to take a socially derived definition of intelligence and make mostly biological statements about behavior is just as misleading as their approach to ethnicity. Clearly a socially derived concept can be a universal generality, but not necessarily a product of genetic structure. In some instances, Hernnstein and Murray base their argument not on the weight of evidence in favor of it, but on what they claim is the absence of evidence against it--as though the failure to disprove the existence of unicorns establishes their existence. But the current failure to refute radical genetic determinism does not mean that it is necessarily true. The same holds for their use on the concept of G, general intelligence, on which their whole argument rests heavily. In the 845 page book, fewer than 50 pages are dedicated to G, and of those pages, only a few attempt to establish its existence. "From the classical traditions that are by now beyond significant technical dispute, there is such a thing as a general factor of cognitive ability on which human beings differ" (p. 22). The fallacy here is that the "experts" used to justify the notion of G are the same scholars who support the classical tradition. Hernnstein and Murray's reliance on G lacks rational justification and their affinity for it has more to do with legitimizing their conclusions than the conclusions being legitimized by the evidence. "High cognitive ability as of the 1990s means, more than ever before, that the chances of success in life are good and getting better all the time, and these are decreasingly affected by the social environment, which by extension indicates that they must be increasingly affected by genes" (pp. 109-110). This is a rather simplistic analysis, and as mentioned above, to be reductive with the phenomena of intelligence, behavior and its possible biological implications is simply fallacious. Herrnstein and Murray's initial approach to intelligence is also odd. Usually, physicists start with an accepted working hypothesis that explains some phenomenon. An accepted hypothetical/theoretical base explaining the structures of what intelligence is has not been provided. IQ is arbitrarily defined by IQ tests, which were designed by compiling what the test makers think intelligent people are likely to know. Herrnstein and Murray concede this problem and give an excellent example of the built-in bias that IQ tests entail. This particular example was taken from the verbal analogy portion of the SAT (p. 281). RUNNER:MARATHON (A) envoy:embassy (B) martyr:massacre (C) oarsman:regatta (D) referee:tournament (E) horse:stable As Herrnstein and Murray explain, "The answer is oarsman:regatta--fairly easy if you know what both a marathon and a regatta are, a matter of guess work otherwise. How would a black youngster from the inner city ever have heard of a regatta?" (p. 281). But the real question is: What do the psychometricians have on their mind when they create such tests and from what conceptual scheme are they deriving their questions? Herrnstein and Murray go on to say that other more sophisticated tests have eliminated vocabulary bias (e.g., geometrical figures, etc.) and now measure reaction time and movement time, which give a more reliable figure to the G factor (p. 281-295). Again, this has been broken down according to ethnicity. Even with the limitations of test bias and the amendments to the new testing methods, there is widespread failure to note the unargued assumptions that go into the creation of these revised instruments. Without any solid theoretical framework, there are many inferences that one could make regarding the amount of time someone spends answering a question and the speed with which the hand moves to answer the question, not one of which would necessarily have anything to do with the phenomenon of intelligence or the category of race. The point applies to all tests including those that utilize geometric figures instead of vocabulary. The conceptual framework from which the tests were created can never be completely purified of the single-minded bias of the creators. Many have written about this problem; but perhaps the most famous is Stephen Jay Gould. In his The Mismeasure of Man, he states succinctly that "determinist arguments for ranking people according to a single scale of intelligence, no matter how numerically sophisticated, have recorded little more than social prejudice (Gould, p. 27-28, 1981). Usually, both laboratory and theoretical physicists are concerned about the consistent predictor value of the implementation of the methodology, but with the methodology employed in The Bell Curve, there are no such concerns. When we look for specific predictions, we find nothing, only vague conjectures and no obvious conclusions, which brings us right back where we started: The state of knowledge does not permit a precise estimate, but half a century of work, now amounting to hundreds of empirical and theoretical studies, permits a broad conclusion that the genetic component of IQ is unlikely to be smaller than 40 percent or higher than 80 percent. The most unambiguous direct estimates, based on identical twins raised apart produce some of the highest estimates of heritability. For purposes of this discussion, we will adopt a middling estimate of 60 percentheritability, which, by extension means that IQ is about 40 percent a matter of environment (p. 105). Imagine an engineer who is building a bridge saying to the contractor, "Well, I can't give you an accurate estimate, but there is between a 40 to 80 percent chance that this bridge will not fall, so I will go with the mean and say 60." Clearly, the contractor would not be renewing any jobs with that engineer in the near future. As to the actual source of this number and its calculation, Herrnstein and Murray are vague, they simply state that "nonspecialists need not concern themselves with the nuts and bolts" (p. 106). They then go on for merely three pages outlining both the direct and indirect procedures that psychometricians have implemented to derive it. This weakness in the methodology is acknowledged in their own examples. Suppose that the question at issue regards individuals: "Given two 11 year olds, one with an IQ of 110 and one with an IQ of 90, what can you tell us about the differences between those two children?" The answer must be phrased very tentatively. On many important topics, the answer must be, We can tell you nothing with any confidence (p. 19). From the execution of the scientific method, physicists do not discuss "crisis of belief" or "loss of confidence" in relation to their studies, but clearly psychometricians must have these notions to help explain their 40 to 80 percent calculation. Even with the imprecise number derived, Herrnstein and Murray go on and say that "luck continues to matter in life's outcomes, but now it is more a matter of the IQ handed out in life's lottery than anything else about the circumstances" (p. 109). But this notion is, as stated, without clear empirical support and left with no clear meaning or understanding. The overall purpose for applying this methodology to human phenomena is also vague. In most cases, scientific methodology assumes that the result of some antecedent can be deduced from the testable knowledge of specific causes, and the knowledge of the antecedent can also be deduced from the knowledge of the results. Are Herrnstein and Murray implying that through statistical measurement, specific predictions can be made as to who people are, what they will do or what they will become? If this is the case, then their claim is easily dismissable. Even the most radical determinist would admit that, although all phenomena may be determined, there may be contingencies in human understanding that are not explainable or testable. By limiting the phenomenon of intelligence to the framework of the methodology presented in this study, it is virtually impossible thoroughly to study the relevant concepts of any human phenomena, much less to outline their structures or to discover any predictor value in them. Even if one grants that the measurements taken in this study reach acceptable levels of reliability and validity, the correlation coefficients are not very high. The higher correlation of .68 with likelihood of having a child is for the high school sample of mothers living in poverty (sample taken from January 1, 1978 through December 31, 1987). The highest correlations are for consistency of test taking ability. The remaining correlations are so modest that they hardly establish any relationship whatsoever, much less a causal one. And yet Herrnstein and Murray insist that it is intelligence, and not socio-economic status with which it is correlated, that is primarily responsible for the group differences. Ideology and Policy Herrnstein and Murray's proclamations regarding America's social decline in relation to the cognitive classes fall into the range of borderline suspicion to full-blown paranoia. Much of the aggravation that has ensued from the publication of this study centers on the ideological framework advanced in relation to the social decline of American culture (approximately 20 pages). When shaky scientific evidence is presented and cannot stand on its own merit, the advancement of an ideology usually follows (Chomsky 1972). The difficulty is to separate the validity and scientific status of The Bell Curve from its ideological element. Understandably, both the scientific evidence and the ideology are legitimate topics (Herrnstein was a professor of psychology at Harvard, and Murray is a professor of Political Science at Harvard), but it doesn't seem fitting for the overall topic and supposed purpose of this book. For example: Over the next decade, it will become broadly accepted by the cognitive elite that the people we now refer to as the underclass are in that condition through no fault of their own but because of inherent shortcomings about which little can be done...It will be agreed that the underclass cannot be trusted to use cash wisely. Therefore policy will consist of greater benefits, but these will be primarily in the form of services rather than cash (p. 523). What this has to do with the "scientific" measurement of intelligence is unknown. In a similar passage, they state: Membership in this new class, the cognitive elite, is gained by high IQ. But once in the club, usually by age eighteen, members will begin to share much else as well. Among other things, they will come to run much of the country's business. In the private sector, the cognitive elite dominates the ranks of CEO's and the top echelon of corporate executives (p. 510). From these passages, and others similar to it, Herrnstein and Murray justify their findings through a particular ideology and agenda, which pretentiously defines the specific presuppositions (the category of race and intelligence) for writing this book. The intensity present in their writing suggests that they are more than merely dispassionate scientists in search of the truth and the advancement of their field. This is disturbing, especially when so many people will read the book and possibly hold it in high regard without examining its unsupported assumptions. From this point Herrnstein and Murray refer to the consequences that will bear on the fate of children, the new white underclass and the eventual custodial state, which will emerge from such isolation of the cognitive elite. Another troubling point is that, for Herrnstein and Murray, absolute success--that is wealth and power--is determined by heredity as reflected by intelligence and social merit. But it is quite possible that wealth and power are attained by those who are devious and seek material gain without regard to principles of ethics or conscience, instead of by those who are intelligent or socially gifted. It would be interesting to devise tests of honesty and integrity and to administer them to leaders in business and politics. In the same way, Herrnstein and Murray are wrong if they believe that the cognitive elite only define success as the attainnent of wealth, prestige and power. Many of the world's most intelligent people have chosen challenging and intrinsically rewarding professions that offer no hope of wealth, prestige or power. According to a previous article written by Herrnstein, accountants and auditors tend to have higher IQs than bakers, and thus Herrnstein concludes that individuals with higher IQs are held in higher esteem due to the material reward given to them from the society in which we live (Herrnstein, 1971). The same argument is presented in The Bell Curve, but with the number of white collar crimes presented in their own data, it is difficult to see the legitimacy of the argument. Surely Herrnstein and Murray wouldn't say that a crooked lawyer who makes $200,000 a year is held in higher esteem by society than a social worker who works for little or no money to help rebuild the slums of the inner-city. If membership in the cognitive elite rests on being endowed with a high IQ, then the best advice that Herrnstein and Murray could offer to students with high IQs would be not to go on to college. They should enter the work force immediately after high school to begin maximizing their economic potential. But not all intelligent youngsters seem ready to choose financial success to the exclusion of an enjoyable, fulfilling profession. Clearly, there are other factors besides IQ bearing on the success of individuals. In fact, who could say that any executives exercise their mental aptitude to the extent that would be expected as representatives of the "cognitive elite." Many working-class jobs require at least as much applied intelligence as a CEO. Herrnstein and Murray adopt an equally unfortunate stance toward the "cognitively challenged" people engaging in relationships. "It has become much more difficult for a person of low cognitive ability to figure out why marriage is a good thing, and, once in a marriage, more difficult to figure out why one should stick with it through bad times" (p. 544). At this point, what is again disturbing about Herrnstein and Murrays analysis involves the way the study is divided up and what questions are asked. Their primary interest in women centers on questions of bearing children out of wedlock, being on welfare and having poor parenting skills. Men, on the other hand, fall into the other stereotypical category of unemployment and crime. The prediction from their analysis involves a bizarre sort of disinterested fascism on behalf of the majority of the people who would rather stay isolated from the "reservations" where the cognitively challenged will be harbored. "In short, by custodial state, we have in mind a high-tech and more lavish version of the Indian reservation for some substantial minority of the nation's population, while the rest of America tries to go about its business" (p. 526). To help combat the chaos of crime that will unfold, there should be "a core of common law, combined with the original concept of negligence and liability in tort law, the mechanism for running a society easily understood by all, and a basis for the straightforward lessons that parents at all levels of cognitive ability above the lowest can teach their children about how to behave as they grow up" (p. 546). Regarding the practical reasoning required to make decisions, Herrnstein and Murray believe, "The difference between people of low cognitive ability and the rest of society may be put in terms of a metaphor. Everyone has a moral compass, but some of those compasses are more susceptible to magnetic storms than others" (p. 543). Instead of a metaphor, I would like to use an analogy. The entire commentary presented above sounds like the macabre propaganda explicated by the "cognitive elite" pigs from George Orwell's Animal Farm: The birds did not understand Snowball's long words, but they accepted his explanation, and all the humbler animals set to work to learn the new maxim by heart. FOUR LEGS GOOD, TWO LEGS BAD, was inscribed on the end wall of the barn, above the Seven Commandments and in bigger letters (Orwell, 1946, p. 41). And of course, fitting for the premise of The Bell Curve, we cannot forget, "All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others" (p. 123). Conclusion Clearly, The Bell Curve reflects the frustrations over the current socioeconomic dilemmas that have emerged with the onslaught of the postmodern age. The promises of technology and science to better our society have not delivered to the general extent that many believed possible. In a similar sense, the depth that the human sciences assured us in helping to improve the human condition has also been generally disappointing. The most valuable form of inquiry to clarify methodological and theoretical quandaries, epistemology, has been neglected within the disciplines outside of academic philosophy for the better part of this century. Instead, most disciplines provide students with rote knowledge of theories and methodologies that are not justified in reason, but are logged into memory. In this age, it is very easy to be labeled a deconstructionist if one makes any attempt to critique the claims asserted and methodology employed in such studies as The Bell Curve; on the other hand one can easily be labeled a racist by supporting such claims. Both allegations are extreme and usually unwarranted. The fact is that The Bell Curve consists of no dependable scientific evidence or consistent argument to suggest that there is a relation between ethnicity and cognitive ability. In fact, the body of data is so immense that, if one were to examine the appendices with no knowledge of the book's premise, a large number of varying inferences could be drawn about both the data and the topic of the book. With this notion, the presuppositions of the study ride on a paranoid ideology that has been around for thousands of years. References Antony, L. (1993). A Mind of One's Own: Feminist Essays of Reason and Objectivity. Boulder: Westview Press. Chomsky, N. (1972). "Psychology and Ideology." Cognition, 1, pp. 11-46. Clairmonte, F. (1970). The Race War. Journal of Modern African Studies, vol. 8, no. 3. Gould, S. (1981). The Mismeasure of Man. New York: Norton. Herrnstein, R. (1971). IQ. Atlantic Monthly, (September), 43-64. Orwell, G. (1946). Animal Farm. New York: Signet Classics. Rave, P. and Johnson, G. (1988). Understanding Biology. St. Louis: Times Mirror/Mosby College Publishing. Spearman, C. (1904). "General Intelligence" Objectively Determined and Measured. American Journal of Psychology, 15, 201-209.

Batory, Joseph P. (1999). Yo! Joey!: The Unique Memoirs of an Unusual School Superintendent. Reviewed by Helen C. Sobehart, Duquesne University

	Batory, Joseph P. (1999). Yo! Joey!: The Unique Memoirs of an Unusual School Superintendent. Philadelphia, PA: Leadership Press. 149 pp. $11.95       ISBN 0-9679216-0-0 Reviewed by Helen C. Sobehart, Duquesne University December 20, 2001 Joe Batory has two things that every superintendent should have: catharsis and Rocco. I'll return to Rocco later. In his book Yo! Joey! The Unique Memoirs of an Unusual School Superintendent, Joe Batory uses a kind of "stream of consciousness" approach to describe his fifteen years as Superintendent of the Upper Darby School System just outside of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. In brief, rapid-fire chapters, Batory describes how he barged his way through the onslots of the superintendency with the shotgun precision and power of Franco Harris and Mean Joe Green combined. (Sorry Joe—I couldn't resist the Steeler vs. Eagles metaphor!) Many superintendents will be jealous that Joe Batory has had this venue for the release of frustrated energy built up during the challenges, absurdities, and even dangers of the job performed by public education's CEOs. Although I think Joe would currently be enjoying a satisfying retirement under any circumstance, because of his feelings about what he has accomplished on behalf of students, it must be twice as sweet because he's had a chance to press his experiences into paper and into the imaginations of his readers. After giving a brief history of his tough upbringing in South Philly and his not so easy entrance into the teaching profession, Batory provides non-sequential highlights of his superintendent years through chapters with evocative titles such as "My Very Own Deep Throat," "The Assassination Plot," "The Lady in Red," "The Nazi Menace," and "The Mad Bomber." The best part is that the stories behind the evocative titles are more intriguing than the titles themselves, and written in a conversational style which keeps you reading, even though at times you may feel like shaking him and saying "Oh Puh-lease!" as he sprinkles the accounts liberally with self congratulations. Here are just a few of the days in the life of a typical superintendent, which Joe Batory vividly paints. First, there is the accidentally found note, taken seriously by law enforcement and even the FBI, which threatens to blow up his middle school in two weeks. He describes the enormous expenditure of money and energy to investigate the case and protect the school, all locally driven since the FBI wouldn't provide direct support. The reader can almost feel clocks ticking and hearts beating as Batory and his colleagues await the designated moment for the bomb to explode. The capstone of the story, fortunately, is not a bomb explosion. As is often the case for superintendents, it has an after taste of irony. After the physical danger has passed, there is a mound of legal and media hype reeled against Batory for proposing to expel the student who was eventually found to be the author of the note. Since the students ultimately said, "I didn't mean any harm," lawyers and reporters proclaimed Batory to be too harsh in his proposed discipline. Then there were the death threats. There was an immediate one in the form of a drug addict with a twelve-inch knife who walked into the school after hours. There was also a long-term one in the form of an Arian nation leader who warned Batory, "We know where you live!" This threat was in response to Batory's proposed expulsion hearings for several "skin head" students who had beaten up several other students on school grounds. Joe Batory also describes incidents which were less dangerous physically, but nevertheless deadly in their own way. These included threats from the Howard Stern media machine which publicly disagreed with Batory's discipline of a student ("back off before we deliver you a raft of shit", p. 86), and professional "advice" from politicians such as, "Politics is all about bein' on the power train, boy...you either get on the train or you get buried." This bit of advice came after Batory had the audacity on many occasions to publicly attack the politicians stance on such issues as school funding, equity and testing. The latter threat was even backed up by an unannounced visit from an auditor investigating Batory's credentials. Little did the unsuspecting would-be intimidator know that he, instead, would be running from Batory's office. Joe simply used the tactics he espouses in the chapter entitled, "When You Need Something Done, Act Like a Maniac." I suspect that he attended the Rambo School for Superintendent Training. There are other equally fascinating stories which he tells, but the point to be made is that, from my point of view as a former superintendent, I can verify that these kinds of incidents, great and small, have indeed become the daily fare for school leaders of the late twentieth and twenty-first centuries. If this book has no other value, and it certainly does have many values, it is important to get these stories into the public eye. Would that "public" eyes actually read this kind of book! The only potential flaw I found in the book is the self-satisfaction which Batory displays on practically every page. Earlier, I warned that Batory is not only sometimes so full of himself that he overflows, but that his tone might offend some readers. He gives himself many pats on the back like, "one of my greatest triumphs," and describes many instances of verbally bullying his way into and out of situations. Furthermore, the macho of his South Philly upbringing (where they had "tough-waitresses, big portions, strong coffee, and greasy homefries," p. 29) sometimes seeps through. One such instance is his interesting description of the "voluptuous, bursting body" of a Department of Education female official whom he had set out to schmooze in order to gain her favor on regulatory interpretations. Female readers, however, may enjoy the delightful irony of the brash Joe timidly putting on sunglasses so he wouldn't be recognized when walking down the street with the delicious Diana. I suspect that the power of Joan, Batory's wife whom he lovingly mentions throughout the book, may be stronger than the macho ethos to which Batory subscribes. I think most will forgive Batory his excesses, however, for two reasons. First, he is being who he is. How many have the courage to do that? Second, he begins with, ends with, and constantly refers to the main focus of educational leadership—making a positive difference in the lives of the students. His brash stories are accompanied by numerous and often poignant examples of the positive differences he made. He describes the Japanese graduate of Upper Darby who was shot while attending Temple University. Having recovered, the student spoke at Temple's Commencement, fondly giving credit to his public school system for what he had learned about caring. Batory comments appreciatively about what the district learned from its many Vietnamese immigrants. He proudly admonishes that, "Great teachers make the difference for all kids, especially the ones everybody else has written off!" (p. 18). He even chooses to illuminate principles of leadership through a list he provides from his father in a very caring description: "you stand up for principle regardless of the consequences; you do your homework, then you speak out for what's right; laugh at yourself, and people will laugh with you, not at you; power corrupts, your soul is not for sale to the rich and famous; prioritize concern for the less fortunate, underdogs need a voice; integrity is like virginity, lose it and it's gone forever; it's ok to be afraid, that's what true courage is all about; and always give a damn about what is morally correct!" (p. 40). He ties everything together gently in a closing chapter entitled "Love Story," love for his school community, his staff, and his students. What a credit to him to let down his tough guy guard and to put that love in writing! I promised to return to Rocco. Joey begins his book by describing his childhood friendship with Rocco, Sal, and Guido in South Philly. Without his knowledge or behest, Rocco and company appear throughout his superintendent's story to save him from physical and emotional harm. They appear suddenly and unexpectedly, like Supermen from a phone booth, except the uniforms are thousand-dollar suits and slicked back hair. Rocco lurks menacingly, for example, in the back of the Board Room when verbal slings were on the verge of turning physical towards Joe Batory. Batory also found out, albeit many years later, that the Arian nation leader who had threatened him, had abruptly left town after a friendly visit from Rocco and Sal. If the one thing that superintendents need is a broader ability to tell their stories, the other thing is to have friends like Rocco, Sal and Guido who understand and will publicly defend the good things that a superintendent does. Although superintendents don't all need the "South Philly" type of friend, they do need members of the community to pay attention to the real values for which they stand. Assuming they are the values that make a positive difference for all students, those friends need to publicly, consistently, and clearly support the person who occupies one of the loneliest jobs in the world. So, as a compliment to Joe Batory for having the courage to write this book, and in his spirit of bravado, I will end this review with some challenges. The first and easiest challenge is to those who prepare school leaders and those who work with leaders already in practice. Use this book as a flash point of discussion, about the hard and soft sides of leadership and how we can accomplish the values that Batory espouses without necessarily enrolling in the Rambo School. Second, just as Joe Batory loved to do, I challenge the media. Print, publicize, and market more books like this! Flood the bookshelves with the stories of what our superintendents do every day for the sake of students, and not just the bold and the brash. As a woman administrator, I faced the brute force of a student's drunken father. I took on the media when they interfered with a student's discipline. I was the subject of political and legal threats. People like myself, however, and other minorities in leadership roles, may have even more intricate stories because we often have to battle some of the more subtle yet powerful obstacles related to who we are. A television series like "Boston Public" could have numerous relatives like, "The Maniac Schools of Suburbia" or a spin-off of a 1960s movie classic, "I'm a Superintendent Dancing as Fast as I Can!" Joe Batory's book scratches the surface of the fact that school leaders lives tragedy, comedy, sex, violence, love, and drama everyday. The third challenge is to our society as a whole, and especially as society lives locally. Read these stories. Watch them on screen if the media accepts the challenge above. Joe Batory proves how interesting the leadership sagas can be. Pay attention to the stories of the superintendents in your own neck of the woods—the whole stories, not just the parts that your neighbor or the media choose to emphasize for selfish or sensational reasons. Learn about the good things happening for each of the students in your schools. And if the good out weighs the inevitable occasional fault, be a friend. Be a public, visible, verbal friend like those that Joe Batory so richly describes. Yo! Rocco! Sal! Guido! Where are you when we need you? We need you now! About the Reviewer Helen C. Sobehart is currently Director of the Duquesne University School of Education Leadership Institute and The Interdisciplinary Doctoral Program for Educational Leaders. She was formerly Associate Director, Laboratory for Student Success, Temple University Center for Research in Human Development and Education. Prior to that, she was in the superintendency at Fox Chapel Area School District. She has published "Creativity Funds School Technology,"The School Administrator; "Creating a Unified Educational System: The Road Less Traveled," CASE in Point; "From Here to Technology: How to Fund Hardware, Software and More," The American Association of School Administrators; "The Student Wellness Check: Conducting a Student Health Survey to Assess Needs," National Association of Secondary School Principals Bulletin; "Implementing ALEM, and Encouraging First Year," Yearbook of PA Educational Leadership; About Teaching, Carnegie-Mellon University. She obtained a Bachelor of Arts in Psychology/Sociology from Slippery Rock University, a Masters of Science degree in Special Education from Duquesne University and a Doctor of Arts degree from Carnegie-Mellon University.

Power, Thomas J., Karustis, James L., & Habboushe, Dina F. (2001). Homework Success for Children with ADHD: A Family-School Intervention Program. Kathleen Rutowski, Arizona State University

	Power, Thomas J., Karustis, James L., & Habboushe, Dina F. (2001). Homework Success for Children with ADHD: A Family-School Intervention Program. New York: The Guilford Press. Pp. xviii +232. $30       ISBN 1-57230-616-5 (Paper) Kathleen Rutowski Arizona State University December 18, 2001 There is no doubt that homework can be a family struggle, especially for children who are already struggling in school. Dudley-Marling (2000) provides vivid and moving descriptions of family interactions surrounding the completion of homework, the impact a child's struggle in school has on that child’s life at home, and the relationships between parents and school people. Homework Success is manual describing a program aimed at reducing the stress accompanying homework for young children with ADHD while increasing their efficiency and the accuracy of the homework they complete. It was developed by school psychologists Thomas Power, Ph.D., James Karustis, Ph.D., and Post-Doctoral Fellow Dina Habboushe, at the Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia. Homework for young children is a typical feature of schooling in the United States. Power, Karustis, and Habboushe define homework as "assignments given by teachers that are to be performed by students outside of school or during noninstructional classroom time" (p. 4). Arguments in favor of homework stress the opportunity for children to establish study skills and work habits essential for success in later grades, opportunities to practice skills, and opportunities for parents to become familiar with the work their children are doing in school. Power, Karustis and Habboushe offer Homework Success as a means to ameliorate the inevitable family stress caused by homework. "In this program it is our intention to offer hope, using approaches that have been empirically validated, for children and families coping with ADHD" (p. 3). To accomplish this end Homework Success describes a 7-week program of clinically facilitated group sessions designed to improve parent-child relationships and decrease parental stress by helping parents to: 1) develop a deeper understanding of ADHD; 2) begin to use behavior modification strategies with their children; and 3) establish collaborative relationships with the teachers of their children. Power, Karustis, and Habboushe posit that children with ADHD display two important characteristics in school: 1) they are less actively engaged in academic instruction; and 2) they require more instruction and practice than their classmates. They suggest that homework provides opportunities for children to develop a useful learning strategy by helping them to take advantage of opportunities to practice academic skills through the completion of their assigned homework. It is ironic that students who struggle in school are likely to have more homework than their peers because their lack of attentiveness at school leads to their failure to complete assignments and that these same characteristics (distractability, lack of organization, poor reading skills) will contribute to difficulties completing homework at home. My own experience working with my son echoes the oft hear parental lament that it takes two hours of struggling with their child to get through 15 minutes of work. The program outlined in Homework Success features clinical support for parents, children, and teachers to help them acquire specific strategies each can invoke to enable children with ADHD to get through homework assignments with reduced stress while increasing the child’s accuracy and efficiency of homework completion. Seven group sessions introduce parents to strategies aimed at increasing their child’s organizational skills, reducing the potential distractions in the homework environment, controlling amount of time spent on homework, and providing the child incentives to increase their productivity and the accuracy of their homework. These group sessions also provide opportunities for parents/caregivers to "take comfort in the stories of other parents" (Dudley-Marling, 2000, p. 154) as they share their experiences working with their children on homework issues. The authors also provide guidelines for structuring group sessions for children participating in Homework Success and suggest using a token reinforcement system as a behavior management tool. The children engage in two activities relating to the material presented during their parents’ session and are reinforced during 15-minute intervals for appropriate behavior. The token economy used with the children and the interventions taught to their parents are based on a behavioral model and were culled from the research literature because of their demonstrated effectiveness in shaping the behaviors of children who have been diagnosed with ADHD. Two important features and strengths of the Homework Success Program are: 1) the inclusion of comprehensive practical guidelines for the clinician implementing the program; and 2) the clinical support provided to participating parents/caregivers and teachers as they begin to establish collaborative relationships. Homework Success includes tools clinicians can use to screen for parent/caregivers who are likely to benefit from a behavioral approach to dealing with homework problems; suggestions on how to begin to foster collaborative home-school relationships; detailed descriptions of how to plan for and conduct the seven structured group sessions involving parents (Chapters 7-13) and concurrent sessions involving their children (Chapter 14); instruments and instructions on how to measure the outcomes of the program (Appendix B); and support materials to be used before and during the groups sessions (Appendices A, C-E). The second strength of Homework Success is the clinical support it provides to parents and teachers as they work develop a collaborative relationship that has as its initial focus the resolution of homework difficulties. Program interventions are embedded in a collaborative framework that involves parents, teachers, and children in the setting of goals, collecting work samples, development of rewards, and determination of homework success. "The Homework Success Program is grounded in a multisystemic, ecological approach that recognizes the importance of the interconnectedness among systems in a child’s life. All key players have a role in the program: parents, teachers, medical professionals, and psychologists" (p. xi). This has the potential of opening lines of communication between parents and teachers that are necessary to cultivate the types of collaborative efforts that are responsive to the needs of individual families, their children, and their teachers. "Meeting the challenges of students who struggle in school depends, I believe, on the collaborative efforts of parents and teachers, but the ability to develop these collaborative relationships depends on the development of trust (Edwards, 1999). Trust, in turn will develop only when parents feel that they and their children are being treated with respect. And a key to showing respect is beginning with the assumption that all parents care deeply about their children and their children’s education" (Dudley-Marling, 2000, p. 152-153). Homework Success provides clinical support to both teachers and parents/caregivers as they work to develop trusting collaborative relationships and as such may provide schools a valuable tool to support their emerging collaborative skills. Parental/caretaker participation in the Homework Success program communicates to teachers the deep care and concern parents/caretakers have for their children. This has the potential of fostering a trusting, respectful collaborative relationship between parents/caregivers and teachers. The teachers participating in Homework Success also have clinical support as they work to develop their own collaborative skills. Teaching has become a collaborative profession as students with diverse needs have been included in heterogeneous classrooms and the inability to establish collaborative relationships between colleagues and parents is commonly cited by districts as a reason for not renewing teacher contracts (Pugach & Johnson, 2002). Homework Success has the potential to provide a framework within which parents/caregivers and teachers can begin to engage in dialogue that has as its initial focus the resolution of homework issues. Dudley-Marling (2000) states that "...the only way to develop appropriate homework policies that are sensitive to the needs of individual families is by talking candidly with parents about homework—specifically, how teachers and parents can work together to support children’s schoolwork without seriously upsetting family relationships" (p.154). I would suggest that it is this process of establishing collaborative relationships among parents/caregivers and teachers that has the potential to have the most profound impact on all the participants—teachers, parents/caregivers, and children. Homework completion and accuracy is a concrete issue that can galvanize parents and teachers to begin the conversations necessary to establish collaborative relationships critical to supporting children with ADHD in educational systems and Homework Success provides a comprehensive blueprint for use in schools. There are, however, several complex issues that participants in Homework Success may find it difficult to resolve. An essential element of the program is that the teacher and parents establish a maximum amount of time to be spent on homework. This requires that the teacher develop and describe a strategy for evaluating work that has not been completed or is not accurate. During the initial parent-teacher meeting parents learn from the teacher about the types of homework assigned, how much time should be spent on homework, and how the homework is evaluated. The teacher learns about homework problems as parents describe the child’s approach to homework, how long homework takes, and the impact homework is having on the family. The clinician asks the teacher and parents to determine an absolute time limit for homework and then asks teacher to develop a strategy to evaluate homework that may not be complete or accurate. The clinician periodically contacts the teacher to gather data on the progress of the child in order to assess the outcomes of the program. At the same time the child’s parents/caregivers are encouraged to continue to communicate with their child’s teacher in order to effectively implement the strategies they are developing to increase the rate of completion and quality of the homework produced by their child. There is the risk that some parents and teachers might resist establishing a maximum amount of time to be spent on homework if they suspect that the child is not being held to the academic standards that other children meet and that this may effect their long-term academic success in school. In addition, homework policies must be sensitive to the ability of parents to support their children’s homework. Homework Success stipulates that parents may pre-teach their child before the evenings homework time segment begins. This puts the parent in the role of "teacher" and casts them as a mind-reader as they try to determine what teaching strategies they should use and how those strategies may complement or conflict with the strategies used by their child’s teacher earlier in the day. Parents are also put in the position of having to draw a fine line between helping child understand problem and doing the assignment for their child. At the same time teachers may have conflicting notions about what constitutes a parent helping a student complete a homework assignment and what constitute a parent doing a child’s homework. In addition, parents have different views of homework - intrusion on quality family time, a way to keep children occupied, a constant source of stress and conflict, a measure of the academic focus of their child’s school (Dudley-Marling, 2000). It is interesting that while Power, Karustis, and Habboushe acknowledge that homework exacerbates stress in families with children who have ADHD, they do not challenge the efficacy of assigning homework for young children. The authors of Homework Success wrestle briefly with this issue in the initial two chapters of the book. Although the direct effects of homework on academic performance appear relatively modest in the elementary years, there are additional benefits to assigning homework to young students. Homework may help to develop study skills and work habits, which can be useful to students in the classroom and during homework when they get older. Also, homework provides frequent opportunities for home-school collaboration and parental involvement in school which have been shown to be strongly related to student outcomes. (p. 5) They acknowledge that the empirical basis for claiming a positive impact of homework on the academic performance younger children is debatable but do not challenge the assumption that an improvement in a young child’s rate of homework completion and accuracy will lead to an improvement in that child’s academic achievement. The data collected on a small sample of children participating in a clinical trial of Homework Success and reported in Chapter 15 of the manual indicates families experienced a reduction in the level of family stress, but demonstrates little improvement in the academic performance of the children participating in the program. The sustainability of the Homework Success interventions may ultimately rest on the ability of the clinician to deliberately address the connections or lack of connections between the culture of the parent/caregiver and the professional community of the school. There are only passing references to this issue in the program. Powers et al. occasionally suggest that the clinician "deliver" the program "in a culturally responsive manner," that behavioral rewards be "designed in collaboration with parents and the child," or that the program strategies be "modified periodically in response to feedback from family members and teachers about intervention acceptability." Failure to deliberately adopt a position of cultural reciprocity (Harry, Kalyanpur, & Day, 1999) and specifically address the potential discontinuity between the program assumptions and those of the culture and community of the parents/caregivers may lead to ultimate failure of the project to promote any lasting changes. For the seven weeks parents/caregivers participate in program they are getting the support of a clinician who mediates between them and the teacher/school. When the program ends and they no longer have that support their actions, like those of their children, may lead to future family and school homework struggles. The challenge to schools that implement the Homework Success program is to develop ways to adapt the program elements and tailor them to support specific families and parent-teacher dynamics. The parent/caregiver group sessions provide structured opportunities to offer information in a non-threatening environment and a comfortable place to develop empowering skills with school personnel. The danger exists that the strong emphasis Homework Success places on treatment integrity, reflecting the authors’ commitment to research, may serve as a disincentive for clinicians to tailor the program to individual families. The challenge to the clinician implementing Homework Success is to discover how its behavioral approach can be integrated with the cultural assumptions of the parents/caregivers and the teachers participating in the program and in the process lay the foundation for the development of respectful collaborative relationships among parents/caregivers, their children, and the teachers who teach them. References Dudley-Marling, C. (2000). A family affair: When school troubles come home. Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann. Edwards, P. (1999). A path to follow. Portsmouth: Heinemann. Harry, B., Kalyanpur, M., & Day, M. (1999). Building cultural reciprocity with families: Case studies in special education. Baltimore: Paul H. Brookes Publiching Co. Pugach, M. C., & Johnson, L. J. (2002). Collaborative practitioners, collaborative schools. Denver: Love Publishing Company. About the Reviewer Kathleen Rutowski received her doctorate from Arizona State University in 2001. She is currently a lecturer in the College of Education at Arizona State University and teaches courses in special education. Her research interests focus on preservice teacher education, the interface between special education and general education, and disability studies.

McDonald, Janet.(1999). Project Girl. Ursula Casanova, Arizona State University

	McDonald, Janet.(1999). Project Girl. Berkeley: University of California Press. (First paperback edition 2000, Farrar, Strauss & Giroux, Inc.) 233 pp. $16 ISBN 0-520-22345-4 (Paper) Ursula Casanova Arizona State University December 10, 2001 A few years ago I met and later became a close friend of a newly arrived graduate student who seemed to be having problems adjusting to the southwest after a lifetime in New York City. María (not her real name) had come to our program with outstanding credentials in student counseling from a small private college in her city of birth. I soon learned that she was also an excellent writer. We had several things in common: We shared a Puerto Rican/New York heritage and the Spanish language; we had both graduated from New York City colleges, and we were both avid readers. There were also important differences: María, then in her mid-twenties, had grown up poor in "the projects" in a large family (eight children among which she was the youngest), with an alcoholic father. I had grown up in PR in a middle class family (my parents ran a small business) where I was the youngest among three sisters. At the time we met I was beginning to contemplate retirement. María and I spent a lot of time together, first talking about her difficulties in getting used to Phoenix and to a large university campus. She found both environments cold and hostile and expressed her feelings best in her writing. Her poems and brief stories captured her ambivalence as a poor girl from "the projects" seeking an advanced degree. They also illustrated her deep connection to a family that was both loving and hurtful. While our early encounters celebrated the similarities that joined us, as our friendship deepened our differences became more important as a topic of conversation. And as the months and then years went by and María shared more and more of her life and feelings with me, I became increasingly aware of the ways in which our upbringing had affected our lives. I realized that I could never fully understand Maria's problems because they were deeply embedded within her childhood experiences of hunger, uncertainty, abuse, and discrimination. I had been spared hunger and abuse, and while uncertainty and discrimination are not strangers to me, María had spent her whole life in their company. My friendship with María took me far beyond the assumptions I had often made as a teacher. I had assumed, and preached to many of the poor, minority students I have advised, that hard work and persistence would inevitably lead to success in school and that, in turn, to a fulfilled life. I was wrong. María and Janet McDonald's story have helped me to see why. McDonald tells a harrowing story that draws the reader into a life that swings from the pinnacles of success to the depths of despair. We are forced to watch as she reaches and then sabotages each one of her achievements. Sometimes I became impatient with these extremes, as I did occasionally with María, and wanted to say, "Why are you doing that to yourself? You're smart, you now have the opportunity you have been seeking so stop it already!" And here I want to leave María, who never descended to the depths described by McDonald and has found her niche at the university, and turn my attention to Janet McDonald and her autobiographical Project Girl. "I grew up in an old-fashioned American family headed by a traditional working father and a tireless mother who stayed home to have children. Seven, to be precise …" Janet tells us. Her WWII veteran father had emigrated to NY with his girlfriend to escape southern racism and to ensure the achievement of the American dream for his children. It is a story that should be familiar to many of us. Her father, like so many other fathers, told his children to study hard in school in order "to get good jobs and make good money." Janet responded well to her father's admonitions. First because she "…had a knack for it," and second because that was a sure way to get her father's attention. By the fourth grade she, and four of her classmates, had been declared "college material." She was on her way to get that "ticket" her father thought a good education would guarantee. Feeling smart and powerful, Janet had no way to foretell the trials that awaited her. Janet tells her story against a background of urban deterioration where the entry of heroin turns "the projects" into the "ghetto." She stands by as her own younger siblings are inexorably drawn into the whirlpool of destruction that ensues. White teachers at the neighborhood schools she had attended with predominantly black and Puerto Rican students had taught them. Teachers who, Janet says, "cared about their work" because, at that time, "… the country's liberal political policies encouraged caring about the 'underprivileged.'" By the time Janet reached junior high everything around her was undergoing a "frightening transformation." She blames the gradual deterioration of standards for tenants in the projects, and the easy availability of heroin in the eighties, as well as an evolving political climate, for the changes in her community. The notion of a permanent "underclass" redefined the residents of the projects: "It was no longer a question of what we in the projects didn't have–it was what we were … we came to be seen as a class of people destined to be poor, undereducated, and unemployable." By the time her younger siblings were making their way through the system "… the public schools were so threatening … the one skill that really counted was survival." (Note 1) In a less toxic environment, and encouraged by her parents and teachers, Janet thrived. In junior high she was placed in a special program for gifted students where she had a chance to study French. A few years later she was the only one in her class to sign up and be accepted at Erasmus, "the best high school in Brooklyn." Janet's attendance at Erasmus required a one-hour bus ride to a school where she felt a total stranger. In the company of the best and brightest students in Brooklyn she encountered real competition for the first time. However, her larger challenge was the required crossing-over from the insularity of the projects to the wider world her new middle- and upper-class schoolmates had experienced. At Erasmus her classmates "extolled the virtues of socialism and condemned the evils of capitalism, the Vietnam War, ... and ... the 'military-industrial complex.' I had never even heard of a military-industrial complex, let alone how to battle it." (The emphasis here, as well as all others in this review, was in the original.) At Erasmus the girl chosen as most popular in her junior high "was intimidated into silence" and hovered around the edges listening. She felt her white teachers were not interested in her and so began to falter academically. When the drama teacher told her she had no future in drama because of her southern accent Janet's humiliation led her to blame her Southern parents: "Oh, how they had failed me! No piano lessons, no dance classes, no summer camp in the Poconos." All they had given her was an embarrassing southern accent. The contrast between the Farragut projects and Erasmus' Flatbush neighborhood sharpened as the projects deteriorated and Flatbush remained the same. Janet found herself straddling contradictory worlds and not fitting in anywhere: "Not in my own family, where I was Whitegirl-in-Residence, not in the new projects, and not at Erasmus, where I was tolerated mostly for the sheer pathos of my 'please-be-my-friend' presentation." Janet's inability to bridge the distance between herself and the more conventional students she had sought led her to buy the friendship of the first hippie at Erasmus by providing him with the homework he had missed when he walked out of class: "His rebelliousness attracted me, as did the fact that he was rejected, as I felt I was …" He and his friends were willing to accept her, the hippies were "on the trash end of lower middle class and welcomed anyone who shared their aimlessness." It was not long before the search for identity had the "college material" girl fully embracing the anti-establishment rhetoric and nonconformist behavior of her new friends. Thus begins the roller coaster Janet rides for a large part of her life. Her poor performance at Erasmus forces her into summer school and then an extra semester in a public high school in order to get an academic diploma. Her mother wants her to get a job but all she does is read until she hears about the Harlem Prep School where she's promised all the help she needs to get to college if she passes the test. She is accepted and by the end of the first semester she has become "College Material redux." Harlem Prep becomes a safe womb for Janet. In spite of her tutor's encouragement she's reluctant to move on fearful that she'll turn into a "white girl." In spite of his reassurances, two years passed before Janet was able to accept a scholarship to Vassar. Once again she's on top of the world while she also ponders: "Why do I always have to be the one to carry the flag and plant it on foreign soil?" (Note 2) Janet finds the Vassar campus seductive, "I wanted what Vassar had to offer: not the education but the life." The soft grass, the plentiful food, the freedom from fear were all the opposite of her experiences at the deteriorating projects. And when she meets some of the Black students at Vassar during her first visit to campus she decides it is possible to be: "smart, bold, and still black." In spite of the enthusiasm generated by her original impressions, the first day at Vassar is a shock to Janet: "We were in the lair of the big cat – the Wealthy White Anglo-Saxon Protestant. Not so much the real white people as the really white people." Once again Janet begins to slide as she realizes the distance she will have to travel: "I had left a unique subculture, a universe so distinct that we had our own mores, customs, style of dress, and even our own dialect. We were project people, a tribe apart. And I was apart from my tribe." The "black Vassar girls" turned out to be of no help to Janet. They had also grown up surrounded by privilege "and actually played golf." She was as much a "sociological oddity" to them as she was to the white students. Janet retreats to find refuge first in sleep and then in drugs when guilt over her privileged position vis á vis her siblings overtakes her: "I no longer wanted to be special; special meant different and different meant lonely… I would be true to my peers, and if they were tumbling downhill, then I too, would tumble." So she turns to drugs. Although Janet's classmates realize she is using drugs, they opt for asking her to purchase some for them rather than offering the friendship and help she needs. Thus, in her desperate quest for friendship Janet risks herself to help some of her rebellious wealthy classmates get the drugs they want. The friendships never materialize but the increased stress results in a failed suicide attempt and Janet is sent home for a semester on "medical leave. "I was banished from the castle, a project girl again," she says. But it is not for long. Janet finds herself equally unable to fit in within her family and deteriorated neighborhood and soon decides that as difficult as it had been to leave home for an alien world, coming back was worse: "I realized it was far better to be from the projects than in the projects." Janet returns to campus with renewed energy and ends the year with "respectable" grades. She also decides to declare a French major and spend her junior year in France, a decision that turns out to have a major influence on her life. In France Janet feels free from the stereotypes that had plagued her. Her own self-imposed ones as well as those imposed by others: "The French saw me as just another American, though I didn't see myself that way at all … which meant I no longer had to worry about making African Americans look good. Or bad. Whatever I did was attributed to Americanness, not blackness." With new assurance, Janet returns to graduate from Vassar and have her father see her grab "the ticket" he so revered before his death. The following year she returns to Paris to complete a Master's degree and then goes on to law school in Manhattan where, after an unimpressive first year, Janet finds a summer job with a legal firm. There she finds someone who takes an interest in grooming her for a career in law and she returns to law school with renewed determination. And then she is raped. The crime, and its aftermath, ushers Janet into the darkest period of her life. The roller coaster continues. At the end of her story Janet McDonald emerges triumphant. Her life is a testimonial to persistence and strength. It is painful to watch her falling repeatedly, strenuously gaining her footing again and then falling once more. One cannot help but admire her ability to stand up again, and to resent the forces that impede her progress. On the cover of the book, Rosie O'Donnell is quoted as saying that Janet McDonald's story could be "… an inspiration to poor kids everywhere …" I don't think so. Inspiration rises above reality, it is ethereal, elusive. Janet's story is anything but ethereal. It forces reality, with all its grittiness, upon you. It is an honestly told story and so forces the reader to be honest as well: Would I be able to handle that situation? Would I be willing to befriend someone like Janet? Would I want her in my class? For poor adolescents and young adults who live in similar circumstances, Janet McDonald's story can convey a realistic picture of the challenges that await them. But I'm afraid that reading the book alone a young person in Janet's situation might become more scared than inspired. A book like this should be read in groups that include caring adults who can participate in candid conversations. Then the honesty of McDonald's autobiography can be a valuable catalyst for discussion. It can then challenge students to examine their determination as well as their fears. The problems of identity, social ostracism, shame about one's family, and "survivor guilt," (Note 3) are among the barriers that impeded Janet's progress and the progress of many others who share her background and experiences. These are large burdens for anyone but especially a young person to bear, and these are only the ones that come from within. There are also the financial burdens, the real dangers of life in many of our poor neighborhoods, the lack of resources in their schools and the lack of guidance about possibilities. Janet bears the scars of the struggles that children like her have to survive before they can rest. Like the heroes of yore who set out to seek the Golden Fleece, Janet had to undergo test after grueling test in order to win her rewards. Like the heroes in the myths, Janet had to face the challenges alone and without prior guidance. And, like her also, the heroes were often outsiders subjected to ridicule and suspicion. I said earlier that I had learned much from Janet (as well as earlier from María) because I thought that inspiring my students was enough. I didn't realize the privilege I enjoyed as a white, middle class woman. Yes, I am Puerto Rican, yes I have been the target of prejudice but I happen to be light enough to be acceptable, at least until my accent is noticed. I am also fortunate because I grew up comfortable in the knowledge that I belonged, and I never doubted my ability to succeed because I had plenty of models to look up to in my family. I didn't have to become something other than what I was in order to reach my goals. Most importantly, I didn't have to reject my family. Janet, and many, many others are forced to make those choices. I will never forget the statement that crystallized all this for me in her book when she reflects on her experience at Vassar: "College was one step along the road of opportunities, connections and choices for my fellow students. It was for them a means not the end. Most had at least some notion about their future and Vassar's role in it, whereas my dilemma was Shakespearian. While the others were in college to be – stockbrokers like their mothers, lawyers like their aunts, or professors like their fathers – I had been told to go to college in order not to be: like my mother or my aunt or my father. The affirmative purpose of college eluded me … From elementary school, college itself had been the future to which I was to aspire. By bringing the only future I had known into the present, Vassar had left me without one." How many of us have, in our eagerness to encourage our students to pursue higher education, suggested the rewards of escaping their own families' limitations? I have but I will never do so again. Now I can glean some of the struggle many of my students have faced and how I might have contributed to it. I find it easier to understand why so many of them quit before the race is over. I'm not sure I could have persisted through those rigorous tests. It is not surprising that she was the only one of the five children identified as "the best and brightest" and skipped along with Janet in the fourth grade, to fulfill their teachers' expectations. The other four succumbed to drugs. Most of us by virtue of class, family background, or any other set of benevolent circumstances have had an easier time of it. But we badly misunderstand the struggle faced by children who having grown up in communities isolated by virtue of social and political circumstances beyond their control, seek to reach beyond that limiting sphere. It is not about being smart, or being ambitious, it is about endurance, the endurance to overcome the Sisyphusian quality of a struggle where every move forward implies one backward. As Janet says, " … there are no free lunches. What I gained in possibilities was nearly outweighed by my loss of grounding. The message I received … equated home with failure; fortune could only be found elsewhere, with people unlike me." She left home to find a home in France. She has "chosen to be a stranger." McDonald's book is not an easy read but it is a must read for those who teach the children of our marginalized populations. It will help us to be more honest with our students and to find ways to strengthen their resolve. In the meantime, through political and personal effort, we must seek to redress the inequities that require the extreme efforts demanded of Janet McDonald and other children of poverty. Notes Canada (1995) describes a similar process of urban deterioration during those years. He traces it to the laws passed by NY Governor Rockefeller imposing lengthy mandatory sentences for the possession of even small amounts of narcotics. This led dealers to recruit minors into the drug trade and, eventually, to the proliferation of guns and crime among urban youth. Carolyn, one of the informants in Anson's (1988) biography of Eddie Perry, uses similar language to describe her experiences as a newcomer to a an elite prep school: "...you grow up in a place like Harlem, you are taught that you are powerless, ...You talk about 'the man' all the time, but you almost never really see 'the man.' Then you go off to an elite boarding school, and 'the man' is right in front of you." (p.90) "Survivor guilt" is the name given by social scientists to the tendency of survivors to blame themselves for not going to great lengths to save others. According to Primo Levin (in Haas, 1990), himself a survivor of Auschwitz, a survivor may question his/her right to live when others have died. References Canada, G. (1995).Fist, stick, knife, gun. Boston:Beacon Press Anson, R.S. (1988). Best intentions: The education and killing of Edmund Perry. NY: Vintage Books. Hass, A. (1990). In the shadow of the holocaust: The second generation. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. About the Reviewer Ursula Casanova College of Education Arizona State University Tempe, Arizona Ursula Casanova is emeritus professor of education at Arizona State University. She is a former elementary school principal in Rochester, New York; a Senior Research Associate in the National Institute of Education; and a Research Associate at the University of Arizona Bureau of Applied Research in Anthropology. She is author or co-author of numerous articles and books including Modern Fiction About Schoolteaching: An Anthology, (Allyn & Bacon, 1996, with J. Blanchard), Bilingual Education: Politics, Practice & Research. (National Society for the Study of Education, 1996, with Beatriz Arias), and "A Future for Teacher Education" in Handbook of Research in Teacher Education , (MacMillan, 1996, with T. Barone, D. Berliner, J. Blanchard & T. McGowan).

Janice Ross (2000). Moving Lessons: Margaret H'Doubler and the Rise of Dance in American Education. Reviewed by Donald S. Blumenfeld-Jones, Arizona State University

	Janice Ross (2000). Moving Lessons: Margaret H'Doubler and the Rise of Dance in American Education. University of Wisconsin Press. 336 pp. $60     ISBN 0-299-16930-8 (Cloth) $25     ISBN 0-299-16934-0 (Paper). Reviewed by Donald S. Blumenfeld-Jones Arizona State University December 10, 2001 Partial Stories: An Hermeneutic Account of Practicing History           There are many reasons for writing a history. One might write a history in order to correct misunderstandings of the past. One might be interested in understanding a history in different terms (perhaps in "social conditions" terms rather than "great people acting" terms). One might want to write a history that memorialized or enshrined or celebrated some past. Or one might write a history to find out about one's own past, to come to understand oneself in the light of that past. There are many, many reasons, of which these are only a few possibilities. Additionally, there are many approaches to practicing historical thinking. Thomas Carlyle (1993) developed the idea of history as the story of great people. In this vision a history is told as the actions of particular, powerful individuals who move events along and telling such a history teaches the rest of us how to act in the light of these heroic individuals. Fernand Braudel (1972), on the other hand, called such history "trivial" and wrote that history is contextualized within geographical, social, economic, and cultural parameters which then make the human actors, as he wrote, "more acted upon than actors" (p. 19). Herbert Kliebard (1995) laid out a variety of approaches to educational history, writing of "house history" (a form of celebratory history) used to initiate teachers into a wonderful tradition, revisionist history which seeks to set aside such celebrations in favor of a more politicized vision, and radical revisionist history which sought to expose the place of conflict in the development of U.S. education.           In all these cases the historian is practicing a partial historical practice in multiple ways: partial in the sense of having a viewpoint to develop, presenting only a portion or part of the story, wanting or desiring (being partial to) a certain kind of story. This is not to say that one could ever not be partial but only to recognize that one is inevitably, irreducibly partial. Within this notion of "partial" I will, in the following essay review of Janice Ross's excellent history of dance in higher education, develop some ideas about writing and practicing history. Along the way I will draw out the strengths and weaknesses of Ross's work, noting at the outset, however, that I have no general argument with what she has accomplished. Indeed, she has produced a very well-done critical history of dance education, showing us an important way to proceed with such work. Additionally she should be thanked for having done this work in the first place as the history of dance education has been a long neglected subject. My comments are designed to extend all of our thinking about the practice of historical thinking and writing rather than criticize her work. Let me begin by briefly describing her book.           Ross's book divides into two sections. In the first three chapters, she lays out a cultural history of early 20th Century attitudes toward dancing, learning to dance, women's bodies, women's sexuality and health and how women were positioned vis à vis physical education and activity. In these chapters she instructs us about the highly gendered character of this time-period. Women were seen as people to be controlled and made docile in order to prevent the nature of their bodies from breaking forth into civilization and disrupting the progress of humankind. In this atmosphere Ross shows us how women, in subtle ways, subverted these notions while appearing to accept them. As a significant example, Ross discusses women's use of spas for rest and relaxation. While these spas appeared to inculcate women with the cultural value of indolence and lassitude, women also used them to gather themselves into single-gendered environments in which they might create community. Thus, while women were positioned against activism of any sort, here was a place to actually briefly escape the oppression of being made second-class while appearing to accept their situation.           In the remainder of the text, Ross uses this cultural history to analyze how two University of Wisconsin physical educators, Blanche Trilling (the Director for women's physical education at the University of Wisconsin-Madison) and Margaret H'Doubler (a faculty member in Trilling's department) created the first dance education program in the U.S. The book especially focuses on H'Doubler, who became both the leading spokesperson for dance as an important educational experience and the creator (at the behest of Trilling) of not only the first university program but for many years the most important program (even after programs developed at other universities). Of great importance was H'Doubler's insistence that the educational value of dance was distinct from and opposed to dance as an art form. Her ideas, especially as expressed in Dance, A Creative Art Experience (1940), influenced a generation of dance people trying to establish the legitimacy of dance in the university. H'Doubler's important move was to use Dewey's educational theory to develop her ideas about both dance education practice and dance as a distinctive educational good.           In the end Ross shows us how both women worked against cultural stereotypes while also being caught up in them. She provides a complex history of success and capitulation, of resistance and acceptance. Further she shows that H'Doubler's influence quickly waned after other universities and colleges established their own programs. These new dance educators did not want to promote dance as a general education good (and themselves as being interested in dance education) but, rather, as artists and the maker of artists for the professional field. For the most part within university and college dance education programs, dance education majors are, even now, second-class citizens to the dance artist-students. This was antithetical to H'Doubler's project. Given this present day fact, one would have hoped, through Ross's work, to understand how H'Doubler's approach might have prepared the ground for its own surpassing.           There are hints of this possibility but only hints. I would suggest that the practice of history may be most important in how it enables us to understand the present not as idiosyncratic or anomalous but as an extension of previous activities. My first issue with Ross, therefore, is that I don't feel she sufficiently connects the present with the past. This may be due to her particular and partial orientation, due to the fact that no history can be complete and is inevitably partial. The rest of what I have to write hinges on an understanding of my use of the word "partial."           As I wrote at the outset of this essay, "partial" can be construed in several ways. It can mean "only part of the whole" and it can mean, as it often does, "biased." These two ideas are not unrelated. To be "only part of a whole" is to be able to view the whole only from that part which necessarily skews or "biases" what one knows of the whole. "Partial" may also mean "partial to X," meaning having a particular liking for X. This, too, is related to the first two meanings as when I dwell within the confines of my part of the world, I may have a fondness for that part of the world and I may wish to see the world from that vantage point. I am partial to my "part of the world" (partial) which acts as a "vantage point" (partial).           What does this have to do with history writing? It is obvious that histories are always partial. Scholarly thinkers cannot hope to encompass all that could be said or written about an historical subject. Rather, they have particular areas or angles from which they are exploring, areas and angles to which they may be particularly partial. These angles necessarily limit what they (and we) can know as well as limit the ways in which we will come to know it. In Ross's case, for instance, she pursues a feminist history of H'Doubler's work at the University of Wisconsin, placing much of what H'Doubler accomplished within the confines of a reaction to Victorian ideas about women and their bodies, coupling it with H'Doubler's working out of John Dewey's educational ideas (a man leading her thinking). Although Ross provides a wealth of insights into what H'Doubler had to overcome to accomplish her feats, she does not, for instance, bring into play the issue of social class. Ross avers that H'Doubler insisted on a certain public presence which was always well-groomed and, in a strong sense, refined. This desire may say as much about how H'Doubler's social class affected the development of her dance ideas as it does about her reaction to how women were viewed in late Victorian times. Ross does allude to this in her discussion of H'Doubler's rejection of certain forms of dance (folk, popular, and theatrical) as being not worthy of a university campus, but the point is not developed. We might understand this as an absence in Ross's work; but it is, of course, not necessarily that she intended this idea but missed the mark. Rather, she had her own questions to answer, which do not deal with the world tout courte. So, with social class we may say that this is not one of Ross's questions, but we may also ask what the consequences of its not being a question could be for how Ross understands the history of which she writes.           It is important, I think, for historians to note for us what it is they might have pursued but have chosen not to pursue for good reasons, a sort of "absent presence" which is, in any case, at least acknowledged. Although I would understand a criticism of my position based on the fact that the historian would have difficulty acknowledging all the elements for which he or she has not accounted as there would be too many to enumerate, I would argue that without such demurrals the work takes on the guise of a final and complete account. Given that we have now come to know that a scholar's standpoint is always partial and situated, not to acknowledge one's own standpoint is to ignore a central aspect of how one works or what one's work means. Without this acknowledgement, we fall back into the modernist ethos of grand theories. I am not saying that Ross has done so here, but there is a quality of speaking for the whole in her work, rather than exploring an important and illuminating aspect of her subject.           Historical thinking and history writing are hermeneutic practices in that the historian is engaged in the act of interpreting events and people of the past. Hermeneutic theorists, especially Hans-Georg Gadamer (1988) and Paul Ricoeur (Reagon & Stewart, 1978), teach us that an individual chooses to encounter a text, an event, sets of events, and so forth because that person has some questions to which he or she seeks an answer or answers. He or she lives in the hope that this particular text or event or sets of events, once understood, will yield those answers. We project our questions onto the text or event and formulate questions of it in the light of our initiating questions. The text or event provides the opportunity to concretize our questions and to ask new questions of which we may not have been previously aware.           Questions, however, are never formulated de novo. They always emerge out of a context. Hermeneutic theorists call this context horizon. The interpreter stands inside the circle of the horizon and looks out on the world/text/event/events in question from the limitation of the horizon itself. That is, we cannot see beyond the horizon so our interpretation is always limited and partial. "Partial" is important here because, as Gadamer argues in many places, we can only make interpretations based on what we already know. We are never without "prejudice" or partiality, indeed could not know anything except that we know something else first. For another's interpretation to be understood we must, perforce, understand the horizon out of which the interpretation arose. To make the situation still more complex, our understanding of the interpretation is set within our own various horizons; and we, too, bring partiality (in its triple meaning) to the task of interpreting the interpretation. We must be wary, then, of making conclusive statements. We must accept the limitations of these horizons nested within each other.           Out of these two considerations (questions and horizon) we may inquire into Ross's animating questions and horizon. Here an immediate difficulty arises. Ross does not provide us with either a discussion of her horizon (what she brings to the project) or her questions which she hoped to answer.           Why is understanding Ross's horizon important? Because Ross does not tell us about herself and her own history with dance and dance education (what her personal relationship was or is with dancing), we do not know what she sought to understand in her personhood. We do not know why she sought to understand H'Doubler and, perhaps most importantly (from my perspective), we do not know out of what kind of dance tradition she is working so that we might better understand how she understands H'Doubler and the history which she writes.           It is possible, for instance, to examine this history from a ballet point of view, a contemporary modern dance point of view or a classical modern dance perspective (a Graham or Holm or Humphrey or Weidman perspective). I will briefly play out three of these possibilities: ballet, Graham and Holm.           From a ballet perspective H'Doubler's work might be seen as inadequate to the making of artists (while not H'Doubler's desire, ballet people would probably not understand any other reason to teach or study dancing). They might even find it terrifying. I was asked, at one time, to teach a modern dance class to a regional ballet company. As part of my teaching, I always include improvisation. When we arrived at that point in the class, the ballet dancers clustered against one wall and were clearly quite afraid of trying to improvise. This was entirely foreign to their way of thinking. Given H'Doubler's strong reliance upon improvisation (as described by Ross), a ballet person's reaction to this history would be quite negative. From a Graham perspective (a very formal approach), H'Doubler's ideas might also bring about trepidation; and Graham people would, perhaps, take an equally negative view of her work. For them, the Graham forms are essential to understanding the body as artistic. Most Graham trained dancers continue to draw strongly upon Graham's dance vocabulary in much the same way that ballet choreographers draw upon the classical ballet vernacular.           Perhaps the only modern tradition which would understand H'Doubler is the German expressionist tradition. Indeed, Ross tells us that H'Doubler felt an affinity for this tradition, and she did bring Louise Kloepper, a dancer with Hanya Holm (who had, in turn, brought Mary Wigman's German Expressionist modern dance to the U.S.) to UW—Madison to teach. I, too, studied with Hanya Holm and my own reading of H'Doubler has always been quite sympathetic, finding in her strains of my artistic tradition. Were I writing this history, I might feature the nascent artistic qualities of H'Doubler's approach even though H'Doubler might not have seen them in that way. For instance, where Ross sees, in a memo from H'Doubler about choreography, H'Doubler ignoring art in favor of a biological approach to choreography, I find just the sorts of sentiments of my own education in choreography. H'Doubler wrote that [t]he creative act is a building process that constructs out of consciously evaluated experience . . . a dance is a designed entity–an embodiment of emotional experience transformed by thought and consciously given a movement form upon which the principles of composition have been imposed by the personality which was the subject of the experience. (p.223)           When I studied choreography with Alwin Nikolais (one of Hanya's most important students), Murray Louis and Phyllis Lamhut, they stressed the notion of embodying an experience (rather than acting it out in symbolic terms) and finding those movements which developed from an inner state. For instance, if I were making a dance dealing with abandonment, rather than act out being abandoned, I would place myself in a state of being abandoned and make motion in that state. What would emerge would be the abstracted state of abandonment placed into motional terms. These motions, in turn, would have to be organized through time, space and shape principles and compositional understanding. We were fully engaged in an aesthetic endeavor. Therefore, to characterize H'Doubler's memo as not being engaged with art mystified me.           In the above using different horizon states, I have developed alternative construals of H'Doubler. The "meanings" of the actual events of H'Doubler's work become quite different from these different perspectives. In turn, not knowing Ross's horizon causes difficulties when we try to understand her particular set of analyses. Ross's provision of documents (written and pictorial) and subsequent interpretations laid alongside the reader's interpretations of these documents may cause a dissonance in the reader (as they did in me on a number of occasions) if the reader doesn't understand the document in the same way. This dissonance lies within differing horizons; but since Ross does not provide us with her horizon, we are unable to determine whether or not her interpretation is reasonable. This makes it more difficult to credit her interpretations. This is not to say that I do not find what she has done credible—I do—but, rather, that when I had difficulties with her interpretations I had no way of understanding why she would state things in the ways that she did, except to think that there were certainly other ways of understanding that document, and why were they not present for our consideration?           Another example makes the point perhaps more concrete. At one point Ross interprets the photograph of a woman dancing in a pageant of 1914 at the University of Wisconsin (an event which predates the development of the dance program at the school). Ross describes the young woman in the photograph as follows: . . . poised on one foot with her head held stiffly, one arm reached outward and the other up holding a flute. The pose looks designed, as if arranged to mimic a statue of Pan rather than arrived at from some inner understanding of movement impulses. . . . The University of Wisconsin women here have the stiffness of figures in family snapshots caught in the midst of a silly good time they are not quite sure they want documented. (p. 87)           Ross is ascribing a negative feeling to the participation of these women: discomfort, artificiality, embarrassment, failure to produce a true connection with nature. The opposite attributes of comfort, naturalness, ease and connection with their natural bodies are simply not available to them at this historical moment when the style of good theatrical work was to be precisely, clearly artificial. Ross is writing as if these women should have known of some values to which, in fact, they could have little or no access. Therefore, I would argue that Ross is projecting her own feelings of what she might have felt were she participating in the same event. The problem here is not her interpretation, but, rather, the way in which her horizon makes this interpretation possible and yet remains invisible.           Let me provide an alternative interpretation of the photo in question. The woman stands as Ross describes and is clearly not skilled (her hip is lifted arching her back rather than having her leg move more freely from her hip as she extends it to her back) and even appears stiff. This may be, however, as I have already written, an artifact of the performing style of her time: artificial, highly self-conscious, and so forth. Further, the aesthetic ideology of the time linked conscious symbolism (think here of the symbolist poets, for instance) with experience, not inner motivation. Perhaps this young woman is actually experiencing a return to nature in her terms.           In like fashion, we do not know the questions that animated Ross's work. We must, therefore, infer them from her text. The two writers of the opening material (not Ross) provide possibilities for us. Sally Banes, in her Foreword to the book, writes that "Ross takes a nuanced critical approach to the history of women's bodies . . . that is a very welcome corrective to monolithic narratives of female victimhood" and that Ross has "enriched . . . dance history . . . feminist studies and the history of education in America" (p. xiv). Anna Halprin, who Ross names as the "original inspiration for this study" (p. xxi) writes in her reminiscence of Margaret H'Doubler, "At last someone has written extensively about Margaret H'Doubler . . . this book stands as a firm tribute to a woman who brought the field of dance to its rightful place among the great philosophical, aesthetic and scientific inquiries" (p. xix).           We have, it appears, history as a corrective to previous histories and history as hagiography. Ross may have set out on exactly those two tracks as they are quite evident in her book as she attempts to make us understand how ground-breaking H'Doubler's work was and, yet, how H'Doubler was set within conditions against which she did not fully rebel (although she might and perhaps ought to have, except that she was too politically astute to sacrifice the whole project for personal reasons). From Banes and Halprin, we are able to say that Ross may have originally wanted to write a history that no one else had written but which deserved to be written (Halprin's happiness at Margaret H'Doubler's story being told at last). Ross's questions about H'Doubler seem to have been connected with the historical tradition of resurrecting a previously hidden history so as to correct what has been told (which had been detrimental to those whose history has been ignored). In this case, Ross connects the history of social attitudes toward dance and women (both of which Ross portrays as negative) with the development of the Wisconsin dance program and major, revealing how H'Doubler fought the stereotypes (while also accepting them by distancing herself from that other dance which had brought upon itself such social opprobrium).           What might Ross's questions be? Perhaps these. First, history as hagiography: In what ways does H'Doubler, an important figure in our history who deserves our respect, merit our reverence, and in what ways does she fall short and why? Second, history as corrective: Are women the victims of social imposition so often portrayed in other histories? Third, history as social conditions: In what ways is the development of dance at the University of Wisconsin an expression of social conditions? To these questions, Ross has provided a splendid set of answers with history coming off as neither merely critique nor mere hero worship but, rather, as a confluence of streams of influences which channel through H'Doubler and on which H'Doubler brought her own personhood to bear so that the influences became expressed in specific ways. We find a woman who is neither a product of her times nor a perfectly free individual. She was flawed, ignoring important possible congenial developments in dance (rejecting out-of-hand all dancer performers rather than seeing what she had in common with Isadora Duncan) and misinterpreting her most important theoretical influence, John Dewey. Ross works to show that H'Doubler had her detractors, even among her own students, so that Ross avoids the purely unreal heroic figure able to convince everyone of the rectitude of her project. In the end we come to see what H'Doubler accomplished, what she left to others, and how her legacy has played out in dance in higher education. That is, if indeed the above are her questions.           I continue to wonder why she wrote the book in the first place, what she wanted for herself, how all of this is meaningful to her. I am also left wondering why I or others ought to read the book. It is not that we shouldn't read this book, but, rather, what is the point of doing such work? Let me take a different tack which may make this question clearer.           As a reader I, too, have my horizon and my questions (and my relationship to this history, as I was a professional modern dancer for many years, taught dance at the university level, have read H'Doubler's Dance, a Creative Art Experience and have done my own writing on H'Doubler's work (Blumenfeld-Jones, 1990). My questions relate to a desire to find my own history. I think of the people of this history as sharing my own life, having been involved with this practice. In that sense, I am the inheritor of their histories. How, you may ask, could their histories be my history since I was involved so much later in the century? My search for an answer starts with a consideration of Southern slavery. My family came to the United States in the very late 19th Century. Even though my family had nothing to do with slavery and even though for much of the 20th Century my family and my "people" (the Jews) were considered dark-skinned and dangerous and have only recently been "resuscitated" into the ranks of white people, the fact that I am now considered "white" means that I have benefited from slavery, from what was torn from the lives of people so that white people, including myself, could prosper. Similarly, the struggles that were undergone to establish dance in the university that predate my own entrance into higher education established the ground upon which I stood as I taught. Without those who went before, my issues, my battles would have been quite different and, perhaps, not even possible.           When I entered the academic side of dance (teaching at a university) I had already spent seven years studying and dancing professionally in NYC with, as I have written, Alwin Nikolais, Phyllis Lamhut, Murray Louis, and perhaps most importantly for this review, with Hanya Holm, one of the four founders of the modern dance tradition in the U.S. One of my first moves while teaching at the university was to begin reading biographies. I began with Hanya's biography because, although I knew her well as an artist and teacher, I did not know how she had arrived at the place at which I knew her (she was already 80 years old and 20 years young when I first encountered her). I looked for an understanding of myself as an artist and teacher by looking into her life. I wanted to connect with what moved her, what animated her imagination, not so I could imitate her (one of H'Doubler's strongest criticisms of theatrical dance) but so that I could imagine myself in a different place and look back upon myself and my history in a new light. After that I turned to work on Martha Graham (whose technique I had first studied when I began dancing and whose choreography I didn't well understand but hoped to understand through reading about her) and Lester Horton (in whom I was interested because he was an iconoclast who isolated himself in California rather than dance in NYC, something I saw myself doing by teaching at Duke University, far away from my heritage). I wanted to know about all these people: how they felt in their bodies, how they thought through their bodies, how they felt about what they did, and more. In so studying, I was animating my own possibilities. This is something H'Doubler, according to Ross, would never have understood for she seemed to fear all influence, believing that dance arose out of the innocence of the isolated individual, almost akin to a Kantian notion of internal forms which become manifest in specific ways in the world. I did not fear influence, indeed, I sought it out.           I also felt, in reading their stories, a firm connection to them, that I was carrying on a tradition, extending and discovering it simultaneously. I found this in my body as well as in my mind. I explored and examined my own connections to dance: why I danced, what I hoped for, what could pass for "real dance" for me. I always did this within a context of complete devotion to dancing (akin to H'Doubler's complete devotion to her dance program and its proper development).           This brings me to think about questions I have about H'Doubler, even after having read Ross's book. Who was this person, Margaret H'Doubler? What drew her to physical education? Given her response to Blanche Trilling's request (upon H'Doubler's request to take a sabbatical year at Teachers College in New York ) to bring back a dance education worthy of a university, why did H'Doubler pursue that request with such avidity? (She had been, until that time, a successful and devoted basketball coach and wept when she thought of giving that up.) Why did she wish to study aesthetics in New York? What was her life like outside of the dance studio? Did she have a life outside of the dance studio (thinking of the "dance studio" as representing her entire involvement with the university and university life)?           For myself, an even more important set of questions relates to H'Doubler as a physical person. As portrayed by Ross, H'Doubler appears to be primarily a "theory machine," all head and no body. Ross tells us consistently that what actually transpired in her classroom physically was of much less importance than the ideas which she had and which she communicated to and developed through her students. The tremendous irony is, of course, that H'Doubler taught dance and ostensibly believed in the importance of the body. H'Doubler's physical presence is hardly felt in Ross's text. At one point Ross does describe her entrance into the dance studio; at another, she mentions the pleasure H'Doubler took in riding her horse (horses and the feminine); still again, Ross briefly describes H'Doubler's striding across campus. Other than those moments (and several photographs of H'Doubler at the beginning of her dance life and near the end of her University work) there is nothing of H'Doubler's investment in movement or what drew her to physical education or dance. Perhaps it was an abstract passion and perhaps focusing upon dance was simply a fortuitous concatenation of historical opportunities. I would contend, however, that the kind of passion and dedication displayed by H'Doubler within this particular field cannot be successfully explained by abstract passion. Or, if it can be, then the case needs to be made.           It is true, I think, that Ross did not set out to write a history about people so much as a history of ideas as manifested through people. But, how does a history of ideas develop except through the people who generate, manipulate, and actualize those ideas within local contexts? Further, given the emphasis on Dewey in Ross's text, how did H'Doubler go about the kind of development which Dewey recommends: experimentation, reflection, adjustment and more experimentation, reflection, and adjustment. I would have expected that H'Doubler would have had difficulties in her practice—especially given that she had no dance experience herself—that would call for changes in her educational practice, all of this arrived at through a Deweyan experimentalism. In Ross's text, there is almost the feeling that H'Doubler's approach sprang fully formed from her mind (as Athena sprang fully mature from the forehead of Zeus) and that she spent her career simply promoting it (and working on small internal problems, thus stopping her students in the hall to share her latest thoughts on what to do in class). This, I feel, cannot be the case, especially as there were no models from which to work. Therefore, important questions remain: how did H'Doubler change? What brought about such changes? What were the results of these changes?           As an educator, I am instructed by other's struggles, by their successes, their thoughts on their struggles and successes and the like. As an artist, when I discovered that Hanya Holm had turned to Broadway choreography when her concert work was not being well-supported, I got the image of alternative forums for my own work, a thought that had not previously occurred to me. When I read about the kind of choreography that she did, it brought me to see her and myself in a new light and helped me think about how to choreograph for different kinds of bodies and in response to music in different kinds of ways. When Hanya confronted the Western states and spoke of how geography changed how she thought about choreography, I began to think about how North Carolina could affect my choreography and dancing. When I read about Lester Horton, I began to understand my own iconoclastic tendencies, and his story helped me think about how to pursue my own desires. In other words, it is through my relationship to the subject at hand that I gain some personal knowledge, which is, I believe, a fundamental reason for doing any of this kind of work. When I did my work on H'Doubler's ideas, in which I aligned her major book with strong cultural dichotomies (body/mind, nature/culture, freedom/discipline, to name three), I was actually working out my own relationship to those dichotomies, and they informed my own thinking about dance.           In the end, I read Ross's work with fascination and admiration. I am grateful, like Halprin, that someone has, at long last, paid attention to an important figure in dance history. Ross attempted to straddle the related historical disciplines of biography and cultural history; she is especially successful at the latter, adumbrating the history within a cultural context so that the decisions H'Doubler made became more understandable. Further, Ross is clearly a thorough and engaging scholar, helping readers formulate new questions out of her work rather than leaving them with a sense that there is nothing more to do. So, if she did not answer my questions, it is clear that they may not have been her explicit questions. If she did not deal with issues of horizon, it may be because she was not aware of these issues. If she did not expose her own standpoint and personal investment as the context for the history, this may be because that is not a tradition in historical scholarship. I have been trying to provide good reasons for why acting hermeneutically by dealing with questions, horizon, standpoint and personal investment ought to be the norm rather than the exception in historical work. Whatever concerns I have voiced about her work do not so much weaken what she has done as suggest possible considerations for all of our future work. References Blumenfeld-Jones D. (1990). Body, pleasure, language and world: A framework for the critical analysis of dance education. Doctoral Dissertation. University of North Carolina at Greensboro. Braudel, F. (1972). The Mediterranean and the Mediterranean world in the age of Philip II, 2nd Ed. (trans. Siân Reynolds). New York: Harper & Row Publishers. Carlyle, T. (1993). On heroes, hero-worship, & the heroic in history / notes and introduction by Michael K. Goldberg ; text established by Michael K. Goldberg, Joel J. Brattin, and Mark Engel. Berkeley, CA: U. of California Press. Gadamer, H.-G. (1988). Truth and method. New York: Crossroad. H'Doubler, M. (1940). Dance, a creative art experience 2nd Ed. Madison, WI: University of Wisconsin Press. Kliebard, H. (1995). The Struggle for the American curriculum: 1893-1958, 2nd Ed. New York: Routledge. Reagon, C. E. & Stewart D. (Eds.) (1978). The Philosophy of Paul Ricoeur: An anthology of his work. Boston: Beacon Press. About the Reviewer Donald S. Blumenfeld-Jones Donald Blumenfeld-Jones is an Associate Professor of Curriculum Studies at Arizona State University. His main research interests are the relation between the arts and educational research, critical social theory and curriculum, hermeneutics and curriculum, and the place of authority in education as a curricular issue. He was, for 20 years, a professional modern dancer. He continues to write poetry and dance on occasion.