Smug Anti-Houstonianism

Regarding "Houston goggles’ have inspired author", I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall at the meeting when Chron Editors heard author Justin Cronin's pitch for his front page article (and the accompanying interview in Sec G). Maybe then I could comprehend why they chose to give him a forum to: a) flack his book on the front page as if it was news; b) gig Houston for all the things allegedly wrong with it, replete with all the cliches lurking in the brainpan of an East Coast Elitist; c) gleefully rationalize his dubious commitment to his financial obligations because it allowed him to write his books.

 

The smug delivery and endless Elitist East Coast digs were particularly irritating. Let's review them, shall we? We'll start with his opening sentences in the "Goggles" piece:

"Fellow Houstonians, let’s face it. To the uninitiated, ours is a city that takes some getting used to — a 600-square-mile architectural free-for-all, with rivers that run brown and sometimes backwards, trees like something out of Dr. Seuss, high-rises that sprout like weeds on a coastal shelf so flat you could flick a marble and watch it roll for a week."

How many things are wrong with this sentence? First of all, they aren't rivers, they're bayous. Would it be too much to ask of Cronin that he pay enough attention to get this detail right? Second, they run backward only from the perspective of an ignorant East Coaster. Trees out of Dr. Seuss? I suppose he's referring to some of the indigenous flora, but his claim is incoherent. I can't think of a single tree or bush that looks like it doesn't belong in Houston, much less any that look like they only belong in the fantastical world of Seuss. Further to his point, I've been all over the country and nowhere exists the volume and variety of all of America's favorite trees such as Oak, Pine and Elm, and they are a righteous compliment to the more exotic types. Bottom line, Houston is an arboreal paradise, particularly when compared to the mean and pathetic canopy of Philadelphia.

The less said about the last sentence the better, except to remark that both the "sprout like weeds" and "coastal shelf" cliches have not only been done to death, but been done to death by East Coast Elitists that had preceded Professor Cronin. He doubles down with the descriptive malpractice in the next paragraph when he proclaims "A friend of mine once remarked, 'You don’t move to Houston for the view.'" Clearly neither of them has in their time here picked up on the long standing Houston appreciation for both irony and fighting words, likely because they both hailed from some illiterate and pestilential hellhole like Philadelphia, and burdened by the self-esteem issues that cause outsiders to make such statements.

Cronin is big on overstatement, particularly on another cliche-ridden topic: Houston's heat. My former home town of Detroit and Philadelphia both have a period of a few weeks where the temperature and humidity rival that of a Houston summer. In fact, I stepped off a plane from Detroit in August of 1985 and the 100 degree temperature struck me not at all. It was as hot and humid back in Detroit. Granted, that weather lasts for almost five months in Houston, but who doesn't know that before they get here? And why Cronin thinks moving to Houston in the summer would affect your mental health is anybody's guess.

His biggest East Coast Diss of Houston, though, was captured in this sentence: "(Houston) took some getting used to. But eventually I began to see what was interesting, distinctive and sometimes even beautiful about my new hometown. (My wife and I call this phenomenon 'getting your Houston goggles on.')" As Left Handed compliments go, it is East Coast cliche that not only borders on parody, but flogs it into submission: it is simultaneously precious, smug and ignorant, and would be applauded by the denizens of the parties he's clearly used to attending, none of whom have ever been to an ice house.  And how anybody could fail to appreciate Houston's beauty is beyond me, much less insist that they can mostly only see it once they've put on their "Houston goggles".  Those scary aforementioned trees are everywhere in an almost berserk abundance, and yet there is symmetry. Our bayous are unique in an American city, hundreds of miles of genuine Nature running straight through the concrete canyons.

 

As to the allegedly chaotic architecture in this city, that has been much overstated. It was never jarring and absolutely faded to insignificance within a week of getting here.  And relative to skylines, in America, I've seen 'em all, and Houston's downtown skyline is top three in the country. 
 

Thankfully, the rest of the article as well as the interview were a blurb for his book and a recitation of his personal faults, including taking a book advance he was certain he could not repay, his relief that he could welsh on his contractual obligations but protect his house, and the amazing implication that he dogged it during his years as a Rice professor.
 

As a transplant myself, it's hard not to take exception to the idea that Houston of all places "takes some getting used to". In 1985 I stepped off a plane from Detroit, fell in love and never looked back.  I also had no notion of inflicting a Northerner's xenophobia on my adopted town, a product of my upbringing, no doubt, but also an ethic that I see runs straight through the marrow of Texas and Texans.  Sure, Houston has its warts, but almost none of them are the type Cronin describes. And beyond the physical differences with the likes of Philly, the social vibe is head and shoulders above most other cities in America.  But that's a topic for another day. 

With the exception of a tenuous morality when it comes to meeting his financial obligations, I'm sure Mr. Cronin is a good person, and I wish him well with his "Triptych" of vampire novels. That said, I hope to never again read the baloney that was extruded on the front pages of Sections A and G from last Sunday, or at least not so much of it in one sitting.