historein: (Gk.) inquire

There is really only one way to describe the recent film Bright Star: It is exactly like the poetry of one of its central characters, John Keates. This movie is painfully beautiful and heart-wrenchingly tragic, ceaselessly Romantic, lyrical and slow-moving. And on top of all that, like all the best poetry of the past and present, it presents a world of beauty and heartbreak to which all can relate on one level or another.

Bright Star tells the story of the tragic romance between poet John Keates and his sometimes-neighbor Fanny Brawne. When the movie opens, Brawne is a seamstress whose success seems to be growing. The bankrupt Keates is staying next door with his friend and fellow poet Charles Brown, struggling to eke out a living writing poetry with little success. Keates and Brawne at first seem to inhabit different worlds, Fanny’s one of the practical and down-to-earth, and Keates’ a much more immaterial world of poetry and words. But as they begin to spend time together, they realize that they connect on a deeper level, and a tentative romance blossoms. Soon they are madly in love. When they are apart, they write long, heartfelt letters, and when tragedy finally strikes and Keates dies, young and yet unknown by the literary world, Fanny’s life is torn asunder.

Now, one might think that after the 2005 Pride and Prejudice, we would have had quite enough of the period film about the spunky heroine who finds herself falling for the man she at first thought she hated. But the romance between Fanny and John is refreshingly un-gimmicky, their progression from mild dislike, to tentative flirtation, to heart-stopping romance surprisingly natural. Keep reading…

I know I’ve been talking a lot about living history lately, but I want to touch upon one more issue that living history museums and interpreters often find themselves discussing. That issue is costuming. Correct costuming is often the first step in creating a good, believable living history experience. But what is “correct”? Must costumes be exactly accurate, or can concessions be made? What is “accurate,” anyway?

Many longtime historical costumers and reenactors are sticklers for costume accuracy. On the surface, there is nothing particularly wrong with that. Strict costumers put a lot of effort into making sure that the clothing they are wearing is exactly accurate to the time period they are portraying in order to provide visitors with the truest picture of a time period. When they can, they look for patterns, plates, and pictures matching an exact year. They comb historical descriptions for useful tidbits of information. Some strict costumers even try to keep clothing a visitor cannot see – like socks or underwear – accurate as well. They sometimes claim that even the smallest inaccuracies can ruin the experience for visitors.

Though strict costumers undertake their projects with the best of intentions, for the sake of comfort, budgets, and practicality, museums might find themselves forced to stray from strict costuming – and I am here to say that that can be perfectly okay. Accuracy is important and institutions and individuals should be aware of the concessions they are making, but carefully chosen concessions can make the experience of outfitting interpreters much less stressful. Concessions do not have to ruin a visitor’s experience, either. For example, although much historical clothing was hand sewn, visitors are less likely to comment upon machine-sewn clothes than some perfectionists claim, and such costumes are infinitely cheaper. In addition, depending on the style of dress, stays and corsets are not always necessary, though interpreters should realize what articles of clothing they are missing in order to better educate visitors. On the other hand, inaccurate buttons and zippers can be difficult to hide and are often the kind of “mistakes” troublesome visitors are looking for.

The possible problems with strict costuming may have to do with more than practicality, though.
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During the ALHFAM conference I attended on October 1st-3rd, a number of common themes arose out of the various (and varied) presentations I attended. Already I have spoken about the place of storytelling in living history that presenters stressed again and again. Today I want to speak about something a little different: the vocabulary that living history sites use to describe what they do and the impact that vocabulary has on programs. In particular, I want to talk about the difference between reenactors and interpreters.

To those not involved in museums and living history, the labels “interpreter” and “reenactor” may not mean much. Reenactor is the term with which the public is most familiar. These are people who, as a hobby, act out for themselves and their friends particular periods in history. Usually the period is wartime – civil war and revolutionary war reenactors are especially known for replaying famous battles. Reenactors research and re-create with careful detail their clothing, actions, and historical characters. In general, reenacting isn’t done for an audience. It is instead meant for the enjoyment and interest of the people participating. Though participants can be great fonts of knowledge, their goal is usually not to educate others as much as it is to educate themselves.

“Interpreter” is a word that people usually do not associate with museums. Usually when the public thinks of interpreters, they think of someone who translates something from one language to another. In a way, historical interpreters do the same thing. It is their job to take objects, or locations, or raw facts of history, and find a way to present them to the public in our “modern” language, literally and figuratively. In many museums and historic sites, “interpreter” is beginning to replace “docent,” especially when referring to staff members. In a living history setting, an interpreter might wear a costume or take on a historical role as reenactors do, but their primary goal is education.

At the ALHFAM Western Region conference, as at other museum and living history conferences I have attended, by far the more common word used was “interpreter.” One presenter complained that her own site insisted on saying “reenactor” on press releases, fliers, and other promotional material, and we all agreed that this was a misleading term. When the goal of presenting history – even if it’s costumed, even if it’s first-person – is to educate, interpreter is just a much more proper term. Only one presenter used “reenactor” to describe the educators at his site, and in his case, this was largely because the site’s volunteers were involved in re-enacting as well. Even in his case, though, I thought the use of the term “reenactor” was inaccurate and problematic.

So why is it so important for museums and historic sites to talk about interpreters instead of reenactors? First of all, the term is just more accurate. The definition fits within the purpose of the historic site much better than “re-enactor” does. There are also many reenactors who are not interpreters, and so it makes sense to create the division.

“Interpreter” also creates a sense of professionalism that neither “reenactor” nor “docent” does. Even if the public does not understand the word in the context of museums, it does give them confidence that museum staff “knows their stuff.” For better or for worse, reenactors are thought of as hobbyists and docents are usually assumed to be older, poorly-trained volunteers.

Finally, and most importantly, using the word “interpreter” says a lot about what a museum is trying to do. At their best, museums and the people who work there are supposed to interpret; they are supposed to translate and make clear a world very different from our own. “Reenactor” does not convey this understanding at all. With education central to its definition, “interpreter” gives us an appropriate picture of what museums and historic sites truly do.

Last weekend I attended the ALHFAM Western Region’s conference in Oregon City, Oregon. ALHFAM, the Association of Living History, Farm, and Agricultural Museums is a fantastic, internationally-reaching organization that encompasses museums, public history sites, and individuals whose approach to presenting history employ not only artifacts and lectures, but who seek to bring history to life for guests through visceral, sensory means. The sites represented by the conference’s attendees included museums where costumed interpreters taught historic cooking or games, or where individuals took on historical characters who interacted with visitors, or who used museum theater pieces and monologues to bring historic individuals and ideas to life.

Employing this sort of “living history” at museums and historic sites is notoriously difficult. It requires talented educators and interpreters, carefully recreated clothes and settings, and an audience willing to play an interactive part in the learning process. When done well, it can be, in my mind, one of the most effective learning tools museums can employ. I’ve already spoken about the power house museums have in creating historical ambiance. Many museum professionals, most notably Nina Simon have begun to explore the power that interactive museum experiences can have on a visitor’s learning and enjoyment. The best of living history happens when sensory historical experience and interactive learning opportunities are combined.

In response to some of the things discussed at the conference, I want to spend a couple entries here “talking shop,” so to speak. Two issues were brought up multiple times over the course of the conference that are of particular interest to me. The first, which I will be discussing today, involves the format of living history interpretation. In particular, I want to discuss the importance of storytelling in museum education programs. The second issue involves the vocabulary used to describe interpreters in living history settings and its importance.

Keep reading…