Stinking Pigs are the Hands that Control

Right after graduate school, I was especially charged up about leisurely exploring the texts I had read as part of my preparation for exit exams. Upton Sinclair’s The Jungle stood out among all of them, primarily because it was so disappointing, and I was eager to figure out why.

Right around that time, a close friend of mine passed me the newest copy of Prisoner’s Dilemma, an anarchist zine he edited.  I had contributed once previously, and he asked if I might have anything to add to an upcoming issue they were doing on food.

I ended up writing (a recipe and) two articles, one that had to be pulled because it was hopelessly out of date by the time the issue came out. In the other piece, however, I finally got to put into words all of the unease I had about what was supposed to be a classic and important text in the history of American literature.

It might be all of those things, I recognize I don’t get to decide, but I don’t think it should be considered either one.  You can click here to read why I believe The Jungle is an utter failure (in more ways than one) and why I think folks are so willing to champion it despite its obvious flaws.

For a copy of the entire issue in which the article appears, send $7 to Prisoner’s Dilemma at PO Box 95006, Seattle, WA 98145.