DRAMATURGICAL NOTES “Whitman’s ‘I’ is not the ‘I’ of the introspective versifiers who write always and only about themselves. Rather it is the cosmic ‘I’ of all people who seek freedom, decency, and dignity, friendship, and equality between individuals and races all over the world. In this atomic age of ours, when the ceaseless rings are multiplied a million fold, the Whitman spiral is outward toward a freer, better life for all, not narrowing downward toward death and destruction. Singing the greatness of the individual, Whitman also sings the greatness of unity, cooperation, and understanding. Certainly, his poems contain us all.” – Langston Hughes In 2013, the Oxford English Dictionary declared “Selfie” (that is, “a photograph that one has taken of oneself, typically one taken with a smartphone or webcam and uploaded to a social media website”) the word of the year. In a way, this choice is emblematic of an entire generation: the Millenials, so often described as lazy, entitled, self-centered, and addicted to virtual reality. Like so many others of their generation, the two central figures of Lauren Gunderson’s new play have a constant desire to connect. Caroline especially, whose illness has limited her universe to the confines of her bedroom, yearns for human interaction; she even joins the trend of Instagramming artsy camera phone pictures in an effort to sound her “barbaric YAWP over the roofs of the world.” This generational insularity seems worlds away from the lush, pastoral America that Walt Whitman painted more than a century ago, but he was accused of narcissism as well. Many of his contemporaries described Leaves of Grass as self-indulgent, a 52-part declaration of his physical and spiritual miraculousness. The very title of the longest poem in the collection, “Song of Myself” (initially titled “Walt Whitman”) exudes egocentrism, and he continues this self-celebration throughout the piece. “I” is not the only character in Whitman’s story, however. The poem traffics all of America, narrating stories of everyone he meets along the way, from the gray-headed printer to the bride unrumpling her dress. Whitman praises himself, certainly, but it is hardly narcissism; in his language, love of self is synonymous with love of humanity, nature, and all of life. In true transcendentalist fashion, Whitman believed in his own beauty, but also in the interconnected beauty of “You” and “We.” He and an entire generation of writers–Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, Louisa Mae Alcott–turned away from the constraints of modern society and back to the purity of nature, asserting that the divinity of man was rooted in his relation to the world around him. When Anthony invades Caroline’s isolated world with a poster board and book of poems, “Song of Myself” is just another class project: the verse is completely out of their reach, the archaic and lofty language of someone centuries dead. As Anthony and Caroline’s partnership develops, however, the transcendence of Whitman’s philosophy begins to unfold. His words speak not only of how their humanity makes them unique, but also how it makes them one and the same. Gunderson’s story does not transport its characters across the sweeping landscape of 19th-century America, yet, like Caroline’s artistic fascination with minutiae and Whitman’s ability to see the universe in a single blade of grass, the intimate story of I and You contains multitudes. As Whitman’s “I” fuses with everyone he meets, so Anthony and Caroline learn to unite over the mysticism of cat pictures, jazz, pop tarts, and ultimately, life, death, and rebirth. To learn more, please visit our dramaturgy blog at www.iandyouolney.wordpress.com or visit Lauren Gunderson’s page at iandyouplay.tumblr.com. – Maegan Clearwood, Dramaturg
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