Crazy February: Death and Life in the Mayan Highlands of Mexico

by Carter Wilson

Products of the "imagination," such as novels, can be especially useful tools for understanding how things work in societies far removed from our own experience. Through the telling of a story, a sound ethnographic novel conveys more than information. It involves the reader in the dynamics of life in places where the rules for action are very different from the rules the reader makes his own decisions by. Some people believe ethnographic novels are comparable to fieldnotes- the data themselves in their original, unanalyzed form. Though I can see the reason for the analogy, the author still disagree with it. Good fieldnotes record raw experience. For the time being, the anthropologist squelches his desire to interpret, and he writes down everything he can see or remember. Good ethnographic fiction also presents experience raw, without generalization. But in building the story, in selecting to tell this because it is important and not to tell that because it seems trivial, the novelist is analyzing his material. Between the raw and the cooked, both ethnographies and ethnographic novels belong in the processed pot.  Anthropologists try to make explicit and public both the method they have used to gather their material and the means for analyzing it. Ordinarily, a novelist obscures his analysis-the grounds for the choices he has made-and depends on the interior logic of the story to make his tale seem "true" or "believable." But Crazy February works with somewhat different principles than the author would normally use in writing "fiction." The book grew directly out of field experience. Wilson felt strongly that it would stand or fall on its ethnographic correctness. And so, faced with choices between what the author would like to see in the story and what he thought would actually happen to an Indian in the mountains of Chiapas, he consistently chose "actuality." In a practical, day-to-day writing sense, reality was the author's rod and my staff. And in the end he was very happy when anthropologists with greater experience in the Mayan area found the book essentially exact and, more important, true to the spirit of the place he had written about.

Genres: Anthropology, Fiction

260 pages, Paperback

First published March 3, 1974

About the author

Carter Wilson comes from Washington, DC. He has published ethnographic fiction and non-fiction, including stories about Mayan people of Mexico, a children's book about the Netsilik eskimos of Canada, and a fictionalized account of the discovery of Machu Picchu in Peru. His first novel, CRAZY FEBRUARY, widely adopted in college anthropology courses, will be 50 years continuously in print by February, 2016. Wilson wrote the narration for two Oscar-winning documentary films, "The Times of Harvey Milk" (with Judith Coburn) and "Common Threads." He received the Ruth Benedict Prize from the gay section of the American Anthropology Association for his "Hidden in the Blood" in 1995. He has taught at Harvard, Stanford, Tufts University, and the University of California at Santa Cruz.

Reviews

[Bob Newman · Rating 3 out of 5]

Maya murders mix with mundane

A boy comes into town bearing his murdered father on his back. He has killed him himself. Together with an elder, he goes to see the mayor who knows the kid will be going to jail even if he WAS drunk, even if he didn't really mean it. Later the mayor dies and a less-sterling character takes his place. We meet a number of people, we see what Maya life in the mountains of Chiapas, Mexico was like half a century ago, and there is a bit more drama before we're through. Carter Wilson writes simply and well. A lot of beautiful description to be found here; you definitely get a sense of place. As in all parts of the world, Chamula (the town) was going through culture change, modernization, or whatever you want to call it. We can note that the Mexican Revolution did not ameliorate the Indians' situation as much as hoped. I think the author has shown how this goes admirably. But I have a problem with this book, which is why I have given it only three stars.

Anthropologists go to a place, live with the people, maybe even work with them, and try to understand how the world looks to them and why they do what they do. They try to interpret this other culture to their readers. If they do so in the mode of "that's how it looks to me", that is the best they can do. They cannot become a member of the other culture, they cannot assume that their thoughts, actions, and expectations will become the same as those they study. So, if an anthropologist wishes to write his/her findings in the shape of a novel, that's fine. I think it is entirely acceptable as a mode of description. But---and here is my complaint---they cannot write AS a member of that culture, they can only write as an outsider looking in. In this novel (anthropological as it is), Wilson assumes the voices of several Maya individuals. While agreeing that it is literature, it cannot be accepted as the bona fide voice of Maya people. So, I felt wary and unwilling to accept that the actions of characters really represented what Maya would have done or said. With that caveat, you can definitely enjoy this book and learn a lot.

For further argument on this line, please see the review by Tanya here on Goodreads.

[Alesa · Rating 4 out of 5]

This book is an excellent example of how to marry an ethnography with readable fiction.

Published in 1973, it follows Mayas in southern Mexico as they try to deal with Mexican culture. It is written simply, but very elegantly, like good literature. Bravo to Wilson for achieving this very ambitious feat.

I had some problems as a reader, however, and didn't finish it. (These are problems with it as a "novel", not as an ethnography.) One, it is totally male-oriented. There aren't any female characters. I found it hard to relate to the very troubled (and often heavy drinking) men. (Although I did really enjoy the scene where a woman was cooking for her family, and we learned all the details of food prep in a mud-floored hut.) Two, I wasn't too sure about a white male American claiming to get into the heads of Maya peasants, and using them as viewpoint characters. While I'm sure that Wilson really did have a great affinity for his anthropological informants and friends when he did field work, it's a bit of a stretch (IMHO) to presume to speak directly for them.

Mostly, though, the book was just really, really sad. I felt so bad for the peasants, getting taken advantage of at every turn, and having such a hopeless future. But then, that's life in the Third World, right?

[Tanya · Rating 4 out of 5]

The Tears and Tortillas of Ethnographic Fiction: Speaking for Others in Carter Wilson’s Crazy February

ABSTRACT
This paper discusses Carter Wilson’s novel Crazy February in relationship to contemporary debates regarding the validity of ethnographic fiction. Although it is important to establish borders between fiction and ethnography, both genres are written by unavoidably biased authors who should attempt to provide functional information about other cultures with respect for the welfare of those for whom they speak. Despite potential problems in the text, Crazy February is an important model of rigorously researched and ethically responsible ethnographic fiction. Books like Crazy February have the potential to create empathy, understanding, and functional interaction between cultures.

Introduction

When Crazy February was published in 1966, it was regarded as a “work of poetic truth” by the New York Times and a “work of art” by the American Anthropological Association (Wilson 1974; Laughlin, 1319). Aside from several reviews around the time of its publication, no significant work has been done to analyze the contents and implications of this remarkable work of ethnographic fiction. This paper presents this novel as it relates to the contemporary debate regarding the swiftly collapsing border between fiction and ethnography .

Using Crazy February as a case study, I will discuss four important points: 1) the biased writer is unavoidably present in all ethnographic writing, 2) ethnographic fiction should provide functional information about other cultures, 3) writers of ethnographic fiction should be concerned for the welfare of those for whom they speak, 4) and speaking for others, if cautiously performed, can lead to empathy, understanding, and the celebration of human universals.

Ethnographic fiction has been viewed by some as a hideous chimera, as though the validity of anthropology was based on, as Mary Douglas might say, “keeping distinct the categories of creation” (Douglas 67). In the critical essay “Facts, Fiction, Fads, and Follies: But Where is the Evidence?”, G.N. Appell states that “fictionalizing fact and experience is…a fascinating trend in our society that anthropologists should be studying rather than acting out” (197). Rosemary Firth is distressed by the blatantly inaccurate way in which anthropologists and the work of anthropologists is portrayed in fiction. She comments that:

There is a certain irony in the present situation in which we, the professional observers of others, have now to accept ourselves the cool observation of another profession, the novelists, because of the increased use of literacy in our own society. (7)

Firth’s observation brings to light the critical, post-modern reexamination of ethnography itself. If novelists seem to be misrepresenting anthropologists, than how are anthropologists misrepresenting the people whom they study? Kirin Narayan, author of “Ethnography and Fiction: Where is the Border” takes a more positive stance on ethnographic fiction, but she believes that “to do away with a border would be a loss for both sides” (143).

However, despite criticisms, ethnographic fiction and ethnographic memoir are becoming considerably more accessible and popular to general audiences. Rather than being forced to peel their way through academic jargon, the average reader can enjoy a quick bite into a work of ethnographic fiction and learn about other ways of thinking in the process. And, “since it is very difficult to disprove what someone not transparently uninformed has said,” it is important for “ethnographic ventriloquists” to be careful about how and why their work is fictionalized (Geertz 145, 5). In this sense, Crazy February is key example of rigorous, field-work based fiction.

I HAVE EXCLUDED THE MEAT OF THIS PAPER DUE TO WORD LIMITS ON THIS WEBSITE. IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO READ THE FULL PAPER, PLEASE FEEL FREE TO CONTACT ME.

Conclusion

Crazy February proves to be a fruitful example of high quality ethnographic fiction. A brief summation of the four points posed in the Introduction reveal the importance of studying and writing books like Crazy February.

1) The biased writer is unavoidably present in all ethnographic writing: Despite the absence of readily visible aspects of self, Wilson is indelibly encapsulated within his prose. His most supportive reviewer, Robert M. Laughlin, comments that Wilson removes himself from the plot with “graceful self-denial” (1319). Carter Wilson’s choice to write a book devoid of Anglos and Americans may be viewed as both presumptuous and brilliant. Presumptuous because it assumes the knowledge of the native and brilliant because it veers away from egocentrism and ethnocentrism. Crazy February is not the romantic story of a United States citizen in the mysterious highlands of exotic Mexico. Wilson conceals his own border crossing in order to focus the book on the lives of the Indians and Ladinos of Chamula.

2) Ethnographic fiction should provide functional information about other cultures: Crazy February provides information that has been validated by many anthropologists who have studied in the Mayan highlands. Wilsons appears to have successfully written a book with “fictional” characters who follow the rules assigned to them by their cultural context. However, it is difficult to know how functional the information actually is. An interesting research project to connect functionality and ethnographic fiction might be to send readers of books like Crazy February to the location where field notes were collected to see how useful the information such novels are when trying to navigate oneself in another cultural context.

3) Writers of ethnographic fiction should be concerned for the welfare of those for whom they speak: Despite the negative references to modernization, it is clear that Wilson has taken great care to present his characters in a realistic and ethically responsible manner. However, it would be useful to know how the Chamulas view Crazy February and if it has affected them in any positive or negative ways.

4) Speaking for others, if cautiously performed, can lead to empathy, understanding, and the celebration of human universals: Geertz wrote that:
The risks [of writing ethnography] are worth running because running them leads to a throughgoing revision of our understanding of what it is to open a bit of the consciousness of one group of people to (something of) the life-form of another, and in that way to (something of) their own. (Geertz 143)

Carter Wilson’s authority to speak for others is synonymous with that of all writers of fiction and non-fiction throughout time. Rather than perceiving the Ladinos and Indians as eternally dissimilar, he studied them carefully and wove his life into theirs. He realized that even though there were no chanul or Ik’aletik in the United States, life and death is a human universal. Perhaps when Carter Wilson saw Manuch thumping the tortillas against her stool, he believed she was the other, but when the Maestro cried at Mario’s death, I am certain that he saw himself.

[Tomek · Rating 4 out of 5]

A well-written novel made all the more impressive given its ethnographic insight. Or is it an insightful ethnography made all the more impressive given its readability?

[Itala T. · Rating 5 out of 5]

Almost incredibly, is a first novel; wise, provoking awe and enthusiasm: characters you miss after the reading! Luckily, Wilson wrote other compelling novels set in the Mayan highlands, spun of very fine cloth.