>> Hi there, and welcome back to
National Book Festival Presents. A series that features timely subjects and big
ideas brought to you by the Library of Congress. My name is Marie Arana. And I'm the Literary Director
of the Library of Congress. Our program today features the distinguished
Kemper Professor of American History at Harvard University, Jill Lepore. Among her countless accomplishments, Jill
is also a staff writer at the "New Yorker." And the host of a brand new
podcast The Last Archive. She's won prizes for her work
as a professor of history. But she has also won numerous
awards for her books. Including the international best seller "These
Truths, a History of the United States." Her next book, "If Then, How the
Simulmatics Corporation Invented the Future," will be published in September 2020. Speaking to her today about these volatile
times and how the coronavirus pandemic will go down in history is my colleague John Haskell, Director the John W. Kluge Center
at the Library of Congress. Jill and John, it's a great pleasure to
welcome you to National Book Festival Presents. >> Hello, Jill. It's good to have you with
us despite the circumstances. >> Hey, thanks. It's nice to sort of be here
or be better to be there. But it's nice to be with you. >> Some pieces you written recently help us
sort through this new and confusing time. Including a fascinating piece in the "New
Yorker" on what you call contagion fables. What do the earlier works in this genre
-- Mary Shelley's "The Last Man," Poe's, "The Masque of the Red Death" and
Jack London's, "The Scarlet Plague" -- say that might be relevant to us? >> Well, thanks for that question. Just to say, again, what a pleasure it
is to speak at the National Book Festival and on behalf of the Library of Congress. I, this was an assignment, this piece in
the "New Yorker" about plague literature. And I was delighted to have
the chance to write it. Partly because I think, when we confront a
historical problem or something that seems new in history, the first question that
historians are generally asked is, you know, is this unprecedented? In most cases the answer is,
no, it's not unprecedented. There are precedence, and we can examine them. And that's the work that historians
are generally called to do in a public space in a kind of immediate sense. And I sometimes find that
question to be a frustrating one. In the sense that all contemporary
developments need to be understood in relationship to past politics. Although that's an important question, we
could also understand contemporary dilemmas in relationship to past literary
representations. And so I loved about this assignment
that the question was that, have we ever had a pandemic like this before? How did we respond to this pandemic before? Although those are really important
questions, I love that the question was, how have writers dealt with this? Or imagined this problem in the past? So I got sent, you know, from the magazine
a stack of novels, and then I went and found and read a few more, in which
writers imagine a kind of endgame. In which humanity comes to a crisis and
possibly dies out due to a global pandemic. And I was really, I had actually read before, long ago Mary Shelley's 1826
novel "The Last Man." Maybe not long ago. Maybe a couple years ago. And it didn't really strike me. Like I remember finding it kind of
boring and just like a weirdness. I didn't, I couldn't really fathom it. I was writing an essay about Shelley's
"Frankenstein" on the occasion of its 200th anniversary, so 1818. As you know, Shelley was a very young woman when she wrote Frankenstein,
this ghoulish sort of thriller. She was 16 when she first wrote it. So it's six years later that she
writes this book "The Last Man." And her life has been upended. She, all of her friends and
her husband have died. Three of her four children have died. She's had four children,
and three of them have died. And she writes a novel in which
she imagines the end of humanity. And it really is the very first work of
literature to picture the end of humanity as a consequence of a global pandemic. And it sets in motion a series of patterns
that are actually fascinating to think about. And I suppose I, when I reread it for the sake of writing this essay, was
maybe the middle of March. Maybe even earlier. It was very early in the experience
of the news of the coronavirus. And I found it very powerful. But I think, if I were to reread
it now, it would be even more so. So how Shelley, what she sets up
as kind of what becomes the trope in literary attempts to imagine a pandemic. Is that what happens in a pandemic is that
we lose our humanity bit by bit by bit. And we are reduced from human beings to
mere animals over the course of the spread of a disease and the ravages it leaves behind. And in that way Shelley's "The Last Man" is a
kind of perfect product of the enlightenment. The whole theory of the enlightenment is
that humans, you know, rise from the state of an animal, from a state
of savagery to a state of the highest moral progress
of enlightenment; right? It's this kind of ladder notion. And in Shelley's understanding of
what happens during the pandemic is that we go backwards down
the ladder, rung by rung. >> Yeah, it's interesting that, how you
handle thinking about the Shelley book. Because a lot of the criticism of the
book was that it's autobiographical. Which there's an element, as you pointed out. But your take is it's a lot more
than that in terms of what it has to say about our situation today. >> Yeah. I mean, and also I wrote an essay, the essay I wrote about Frankenstein
is that it is autobiographical. And Shelley's work just is autobiographical. That's, whether that counts as a criticism has
to do with how you understand the relationship between autobiography and fiction. But I think that there's something
much grander in the story of, I mean, I don't think it's a great novel. To be honest, it's quite boring. It's like fairly deadly. I tried listening to it on tape,
and I just kept falling asleep. You got to sit down with this book when
you're wide awake with a big coffee. But I think it, she, I think because of
her own personal losses and in some sense because of the grandiosity
of her husband Percy Shelley. She had a kind of grandiose notion
of the capacity of humankind. And so then a kind of equally grandiose
notion of the dissent of humankind. >> And you also focused on 20th century
novels by Albert Camus and Jose Saramago. And they're examples of plague
novels, as you call it in the essay. Their themes may be even more chilling. What do we take away from them? Did they help us to know things today? >> Yeah, I mean, every plague
novel really is a parable. I mean, not that there isn't a lot
of parable in most modern fiction. But there's a kind of, you would find
it to be almost a kind of clunkiness. It has, it really takes on the form of a
parable or a fable as a very strict moral to be taken away from each of these books. And in that sense I think they're not
always the best works of literature. Because they're so heavy-handed with the
way they're trying to deliver this argument. Although both of the examples you just
mentioned are actually quite lovely books. And, you know, it's, the sort of
CliffsNotes way to read Camus' "The Plague" is it's about fascism. I mean "The Plague" is fascism. But it's very elegantly woven
together as a story. Though it's Saramago's "Blindness" that I found
to be the most beautiful of all these books. And I, obviously, it is the
most modern sensibility. I think it was published in '92. >> A little later than that I think. But, yeah, close. I think it's, yeah, mid-90s at least. >> Yeah. Must have been before
he received the Nobel Prize. >> It was just before, right. >> Yeah. And it's just a gorgeous book in which
the plague from which we suffer is blindness or this shocking disease
that's highly contagious. You just, be in the proximity of someone
within hours of being near to them, you lose your sight in a very unusual way. Everything you see is white. Instead of, we imagine blindness
to seeing only blackness. But everything you see is white. And it's, so it's a book about
a lot of different things. But it is fundamentally both an indictment
of our inhumanity to one another. And also a celebration of the
capacity for endurance and compassion. I guess, also stuck with me in this deep way because the very last thing I did before
quarantining myself, I had a trip to New York that I thought I might cancel,
and I ended up going. And I was going to be speaking at Sarah
Lawrence College, but also at Rutgers. And I, and my host wanted me to go, so I went. And when I went to speak at Rutgers, it's
the last time I had dinner with anybody. We went out to a lovely dinner. Maybe 15 people, faculty and students. And over the course of the dinner,
this was March 6th, I think. I said I had just finished reading "Blindness." And pretty much everyone at
the table had read it before. It was mainly people from the
English department at Rutgers. And so we this had long conversation about it. People sharing passages that
they found most striking. What they remembered best about it. People remembered where they
were when they read it. And it was just a kind of
communion about literature. About at that the moment of
not knowing what came next. We all found comfort and solace in our
shared experience of this beautiful novel. So, I don't know, it's just
a precious memory for me. I loved the book. But I also loved sharing a love for the book with this essentially communion
table of readers. >> You know, the "Washington Post"
had an article, I think it was just over the weekend, about a teacher in Minnesota. Who was assigning, like a lot of high school
teachers are doing now, "The Plague" by Camus. And there was a lot of quotes in there from the
students, a very precocious bunch of students. >> Yeah. >> But they all seemed to derive positive
messages from the play, which was interesting. I mean, I was having a little trouble. It was a bit of a stretch for me. But they expressed that there
this, it seemed to be about how there's a positive
side to human nature. And so it wasn't, they didn't
want to focus on the plague side. >> Yeah, yeah. Well, good for them. Wonderful that they can find that. And find within themselves the
lightness and the vision to move forward. I don't find "The Plague" to be a
celebration of endurance and compassion. I did find "Blindness" to be that. But that's nice to hear. >> Your recent books on U.S.
history or the situation today, "These Truths" that was published in 2018. And "This America" last year. As well as other writings have focused
concern on an illiberal nationalism that has been researched, and not just
in the U.S., of course, in recent years. How do you see the current crisis in this light? Is this the kind of thing that you
think feeds the flames of illiberalism? >> You know, I think it's far to soon to know
what the, we won't know really until we get to the other side of this
what it has done to us. And what we have done during it. I don't, so I don't mean to dodge the question. But I think you can see forces
that go in either direction. On the one hand, there seems to be
a lot of interest in some quarters in promoting competition between nations
over, as if there's kind of a zero sum in the availability of, you know,
personal protective equipment. And masks and such. Or ventilators. That we have to grasp these things
from other countries and make sure that we keep them and don't provide, you know. Or that there's this kind of, you know,
just very creepy fisticuffs around resources that fails to understand, you know,
the global nature of the dilemma. And some countries might be in more crisis at
a certain point and then less at another point. But they're going to be in crisis again. Or the, I think, very distressing
competition around race for the vaccine. The whole world needs a vaccine. But the idea that the country
that develops it will be able to distribute it to its own people first. And, therefore, will, like, I just, you know,
the sort of viciousness of that have kind of nationalism is really distressing to watch. And to see, some part of that is inevitable. But to see it be fanned and inflamed for narrow, shortsighted political ends
is very difficult to watch. But on the other hand, I
think in no time and certainly in our lifetimes have we experienced
going through something in tandem with everyone else on the planet. I mean, not that, it's not
exactly a sense of solidarity. I don't think that people, you know, someone in
Nebraska necessarily has a sense of what it's like in New Delhi during, you know. There's different kinds of lockdowns. And different restrictions. And different resources. And people are living in such
widely varying conditions. But the human experience of being confined. Of having our intimacy with our fellow humans
curtailed is a deep, deep, deep emotional and physical experience that
we are all sharing in some way. You know, it's sort of like the
first act of the disaster movie where the asteroid is about to hit the planet. And all the governments decide to cooperate. Because it's just, yeah, you
might be a different country, but we are all on the same planet. There's some, there's, you know, there's,
so the forces of, I wouldn't say globalism. But some sense of internationalism. Some sense of humanism as
opposed to the nationalism. There are forces that are
intentional with one another right now. And I don't, we don't really know
where we'll come out on the other side. >> So as a historian, you look at
what's happening to the economy. And, you know, you're not an
economist, so it's hard for you to gauge trends any more than
sometimes economists can. Do you think that from a political standpoint
we're looking at something that could be similar to what Roosevelt faced when he took office? When the Depression was at
its, you know, at rock bottom? That either Trump or Biden,
when one of them takes over. Is this sort of an opportunity
for the next president, whether it's a reelected president or not? >> Well, I think that opportunity
has already been proffered; right? We are in that crisis. This, the unemployment figures
and the stock market, we are in that place, in the
depth of that crisis now. And I think there has been an extraordinary
amount of political action of great worthiness. Largely on the part of governors, I
would say, and state legislatures. And I would say on the whole, the
striking thing, I mean, the, you know, the press wants to give a certain amount
of attention to the conflict-based stories of people who are calling
for the reopening of America. But on the whole, the population, you know,
the sort of, people have been fairy compliant with the need to take actions
to protect the common wheel. Not just yourself, but the larger
community of your neighborhood. And your city. Your town. So I think there actually has been a lot
that has already happened that edges us out of the political gridlock, the
hyperpolarization of recent American history, you know, the last sort of, you
know, since 20, since 2008 really. I mean, the trends in polarization
are different. But it would take a lot of leadership at
the national level for economic reforms that could avert a much greater tragedy
than what we're experiencing right now. It would take a lot of leadership
at the Congressional level. And I, yeah, I mean, I think is that, I
wouldn't exactly call it an opportunity. But there is absolutely a call for a kind
of political courage and political will that has largely been absent from the
American scene for quite some time. >> I think it's interesting you brought
up the federal system with the states. Which from the founding were meant to take
the lead in really some of the central, the history of federalism as
well on health and education. And transportation. And pretty much anything that
affects us in a day-to-day life, the states were supposed to take the lead. And that's been superceded by a stronger
federal government in the 20th century. But that, how do you see that arrangement? It's a 250-year-old arrangement. You, what you said a minute ago made
it sound like you see some positives that that arrangement is not outmoded. >> When I say some positives, I
think that governors have stepped up and done the work that needs to be done. I think, to be honest, a lot
of people probably did not know who their governor was before this crisis. And I don't mean that, you
know, in a demeaning sense. But like how often are you really
paying attention to the governor? You know, even in local news. Like the news is largely about stuff
that happens in the state house. There's not going to be some brutal battle
with a vetoing governor or something. But I think people have a sense of
the work that governors do and can do. And mayors as well. Especially in bigger cities. And I think that's all to the good. I do think, though, in this instance
it's largely a consequence of the failure of the federal government
to act in meaningful ways. And in particular, let us just say not for the
failure of federal government to do anything, but the failure of the federal government
to act more quickly than the states. Which it should theoretically be able to do. And the failure of the federal government
to coordinate efforts across states. Which is obviously a necessity
in the federal system. So it, the upside is a lot of governors
have really showed up and done their jobs. The downside is they have had to because
the federal government isn't really working. >> And the, there was a poll that came out
just in the last day or two that indicated that the governors who were reaching
across the aisle, so to speak, and acting in a more bipartisan
fashion were the ones that were dramatically more
popular in their states. Which plays into some of what
you are talking about with regard to maybe the hyperpolarization, at
least for the time being, lessening. >> Yeah. And I think it's actually very possible
for governors to act in a bipartisan way. We think of states as red
states and blue states. But all states have all kinds of voters in them. And this is, you know, now is not the time
to be emphasizing our partisan differences. So I think there's been some
really extraordinary capacity. And that's, of course, a longstanding trend
with regard to the office of the governor. I mean, I remember when I
was a kid one of the things that made Michael Dukakis' political
career was the blizzard of 1978. He, you know, was this terrible
blizzard in the state of Massachusetts. And he was on television
every night talking about it. And he wore some like goofy sweater. And, you know, people didn't
really love Michael Dukakis. But they were like, you know, he showed up. He explained what was going on. He's not FDR with his fireside chat
really feeling what you're experiencing and explaining it especially well. But, you know, you kind of, you
got, you didn't really like the guy. Like my family was just really
opposed to Dukakis. I had no view. But I remember my dad saying, you
know, you got to hand it to the guy. You know, he's out there doing his job. Like there was something about it where like
we just kind of put aside, didn't like him. Didn't like his politics. Didn't like his administration. Well, we're buried beneath three feet
of snow, and he's trying to help. Like that, like there's some piece of that where
you can kind of set aside your predispositions and think about the larger
implications of what a government is for. >> Right. So in "In These
Truths," that's the 2019 book. You lay out a role or even a responsibility for
scholars in addressing the challenges we face in the U.S. What role do scholars
and cultural institutions have in a crisis like we are in now? Are there examples of public intellectuals
playing important roles in earlier periods of crisis that might serve as a guide? >> Well, the long history of
that is a complicated one. And I think it is largely history
that discourages intellectuals from being involved in the public sphere. The sense that there was a big divide between
the work you would do as a university professor and a role you might play in public
life, that divide was created. And then it was taken down in the
middle decades of the 20th century. A large number of highly prominent intellectuals
engaged significantly in public life. Whether they served in the administration
of, various presidential administrations. Or whether they had prominent
roles in life [inaudible]. I mean, you think about, you know,
beginning with like FDR's brain trust, the kind of people he brought in. Or, you know, Kennedy's Harvard men. John F. Kennedy's presidency. You think about the 1950s. You know, everyone from William F. Buckley
founding the "National Review" in 1955. And, you know, then founding "Firing Line." To someone like Arthur Schlesinger
serving in the Kennedy administration. There was a lot of that kind of
from 30s through the end of the 60s. But what happened in the aftermath, this
is something I actually take up in my book that comes out in the fall, "If Then." Is that a lot of social scientists, in addition
to physical scientists, are really involved in arguing for and defending the war in Vietnam. And they were called out by their academic
colleagues who were opposed to that war. And one of the longer-term legacies
of the Vietnam War was the commitment of many American intellectuals
to have no part in public life. That you would essentially be allowing yourself
to be conscripted to American foreign policy. Or the aims of a surveillance state. Or that there was really no ethical way to
engage as an intellectual in the public sphere. That it was just fraught with so many perils. Among them would be that you'd would be
promoting American nationalism even without, you know, illiberalism. Even without intending it. So after the Vietnam War, there's an incredible
retreat of intellectuals from public life. And I think largely for good reason. The academy really closed in on itself. I think it became a very punishing thing
to make a choice to engage in public life. I mean, I remember when I was a young assistant
professor being told, if you publish an op-ed in the "New York Times," you won't get tenure. Like that was just a rule
that everybody should know. If you decided to have an
opinion and a voice in public, you couldn't also be a tenured professor. And I think there was reason for that. There were real costs to that. So do I have a prescription? Do I think X, you know, an
intellectual should do X, Y and Z? No. But I do, and I do actually think
that most of the work that scholars and scientists do, they do in the classroom. They do in their laboratories. They do it in libraries. Advancing knowledge. Producing new knowledge. Diffusing knowledge. And that that is and of its
own of extraordinary value. In the same way that work
that cultural institutions do, acquiring and displaying
materials, is in itself, it's own right an essential contribution. But I do think for some scholars there is, there
can be a sense of a call to act responsibly in public by contributing to public debates. In the same way a museum would decide,
this is an exhibit that we should produce. A huge K through 12 educational
teaching guide to go along with it. Like this is the thing we really should
be bringing to it, but [inaudible]. This should be a traveling exhibit. Like the decisions you might make
about what we're just going to do here. And what maybe could speak
to a different audience. >> Well, you've managed to be engaged publicly. And, Harvard professor, you managed
to get tenure in there somewhere. And so there does seem to be a lane now. Or are you the exception
that illustrates the rule? >> No, I think there is a lane now. And I, you know, young scholars
ask me all the time. Like what are the rules? Like can I do this and still get tenure? And I think it really varies
from institution to institution. And, you know, I think it's, for me, honestly,
it remains a series of very, very hard choices. Like things I'm asked to do, sometimes I
think, well, I shouldn't be doing that. That doesn't seem like a good use of my time. Like I have to, I certainly have to
always think about my students first. That's my job. That's my actual job. I have had an incredibly fortunate experience. I have wonderful colleagues. I have a really supportive university. And I write for the "New Yorker." Which is a magazine that I greatly esteem. And partly because of its
commitment to, you know, kind of a big and informed public discourse. Like I can write an essay, you
know, that's thousands of words. That's different from churning out, you
know, tweeting every day about something. Which for me would not feel like a good fit
for the contributions I might want to make. So it is a series of choices. And I don't, it's, I think it comes down
to people's different circumstances. I do think that the consequence with
regard to American history is that, when American historians who, in particular, retreated from public life
after the Vietnam War. When American historians who are scholars
retreat from public life and don't want to engage in the process of telling
the story of the nation's history. And confronting its atrocities while even
also chronicling its tremendous achievements and ambitions. Then we kind of yield the story of telling the
nation's past basically to political partisans who are most of the people who are doing
that work in public who are not scholars. So I think it's important
to fight for that space. >> Unfortunately, Jill, we have
to wrap up our conversation. Thank you for participating in the
National Book Festival Presents series. And, of course, we wish you the best. >> Thanks so much, John. Lovely to speak with you.
