The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
the b-side
Thursday, October 27, 2016 — 3B

“

You’re an English major? 
Well … what are you going 
to do with that?”

Ah, I see. You’re relying on 

notions of practicality 
rather than considering 
the 
true 
reasoning 

behind why I study 
what I do. That’s not 
wise. 
If 
I’m 
going 

to devote my life to 
something, it might as 
well be something I’m 
passionate about. I’m 
not really interested 
in the idea of earning 
higher salaries in the 
future or leaving college with a 
more applicable and competitive 
degree in the workplace.

Recently, I’ve been motivated to 

think more about the purpose of 
the humanities after a discussion 
I had in one of my classes the 
other day. We were talking about 
budget cuts across high schools 
and colleges all over the country, 
grappling with the fact that the 
first departments to be cut from 
these institutions are, of course, 
the humanities.

The 
highest 
post-college 

salaries come from degrees in 
engineering, computer science, 
mathematics and the natural 
sciences. Surprising? Probably not. 
Our conversation in class started 
to develop into one I think is worth 
sharing.

What is the accessibility of 

our work in the humanities? 
That is, are the products of our 
departments, such as literary 
theory, 
research, 
language, 

books and art understood by 
populations 
across 
academia? 

As a class, we pondered the idea 
that maybe, for people outside 
humanities departments, there’s a 
divide simply because of a lack of 
understanding.

Of course, if I were put in an 

engineering course, I would not 
have the slightest idea of what I was 
learning. It’s a foreign language to 
me. Granted, while discussing the 

value of an engineering degree, 
it’s not as difficult to figure out 
how it could be used. There are 
plenty of companies interested in 

hiring students who 
are well-educated in 
that particular field. 
From discussions I 
have had with people 
about the study of 
literature and what 
an 
English 
degree 

provides in general, 
I get the sense they 
don’t 
know 
what’s 

really happening in 
the world of language 

and literature.

The stereotype of a humanities 

student 
is 
one 
that 
carries 

around a lot of books all day and 
is almost always writing essays. 
That is fairly true, but there are 
dimensions 
of 
meaning 
that 

I think no other departments 
capture more fully than the 
humanities. Recently, I heard 
a student say that studying the 
humanities is, in essence, getting 
closer to the idea of what it means 
to be human. In addition, we 
understand our history more 
clearly, as fundamental human 
nature across time is, for the 
most part, about the same. The 
discussion 
sparked 
my 
own 

questioning of why people might 
be missing the value of what 
humanities is doing in an academic 
setting, thus justifying sources of 
funding to be reallocated to other 
places. If people don’t understand 
what is being produced from 
departments that study humanity, 
they aren’t going to recognize the 
purpose.

The heart of this discussion 

comes 
from 
understandings 

of 
rhetoric. 
Merriam-Webster 

defines this term as “the art or skill 
of speaking or writing formally 
and effectively especially as a way 
to persuade or influence people,” 
which I think, in a lot of ways, is the 
central goal of my study of English. 
We decided in class that rhetoric is 

determined by culture. How are 
we, as a culture, as a people and as 
individuals, using our language to 
persuade and instigate change?

Understanding 
language 

through the medium of writing 
is also essential, as writing works 
as an effective tool in almost 
every profession. Often, students 
who aren’t familiar or interested 
in 
humanities 
courses 
are 

discouraged by how sophisticated 
they feel language has to be used 
to appear “intelligent” or for 
writing to be considered “good.” 
For the many who are not sold 
on the idea that departments in 
the humanities are worth the 
investment, classes focused on 
exploring the complex realms of 
language, both foreign languages 
or concepts with English, are 
generally cut.

The idea of taking classes “for 

a job” is baffling to me. The value 
of learning is being hidden, or 
perhaps replaced, by the need to 
“train” for post-grad life. Students 
are being molded into a product 
that will be of high demand 
in the workforce, rather than 
developing a mind that is able to 
think, question and challenging 
existing ideas. It occurred to me 
that if a department is cut because 
it is considered irrelevant, the 
foundation that learning is built 
upon will start to break down.

Passion and interest lie on 

one side of the spectrum, with 
employability and competiveness 
on the other. What remains 
between both extremes is what 
one decides is our purpose at 
an institution such as this one. 
Learning how to do a certain 
job is not as important as simply 
learning how to learn. My study of 
English literature and language is 
capturing the human experience 
— one that in any job, with any 
degree, must be understood. 

Kadian is walking to class with 

a bunch of books. To offer to carry 

them, email bkadian@umich.edu

Is my major useless?

COMMUNITY CULTURE COLUMN

“What in the world are you gonna do with an English major?”

BAILEY 
KADIAN

NETFLIX

Midnight Diner Dreams of Sushi.

Sometimes the best stories 

take place in the most unlikely 
places. This principle provides 
the foundation for “Midnight 
Diner,” the new 
Japanese language 
Netflix 
Original 

series 
centering 

around 
Meshiya, 

a small restaurant 
tucked away off 
the main streets 
of 
Tokyo, 
its 

proprietor known 
as Master (Kaoru 
Kobayashi, 
“The 

Great 
Passage”) 

and the patrons 
who find themselves there 
between midnight and 7 a.m. 
when the restaurant is open. 
And it’s during those hours that 
the most compelling stories 
are revealed about the show’s 
miscellaneous characters.

The sympathetic Master has 

only pork miso soup and a few 
drinks on his menu, but will 
make anything his customers 
order as long as he has the 
ingredients. Like his menu, 
customers get more than what 
they see when they dine at 
Meshiya. Both regulars and 
newcomers 
alike 
converge 

at the small, almost hidden 
location under the pretense of 
a simple late-night meal. But 
Master serves up his meals 
with quiet comfort — exuding 
an aura that invites customers 
to share their stories with him 
and with us.

Under the warm auspices 

of Master, customers divulge 
information about themselves 
that they otherwise wouldn’t. 

Perhaps it’s the sense of home 
that’s cooked into his meals. We 
first learn about them through 
the food they order — a culinary 
treat to behold in itself. As the 
food sizzles over the stove, 
the same sense of comfort 

that 
draws 
in 

his 
customers 

washes 
over 

us. The food is 
served up with 
the stories.

It 
isn’t 
so 

much an action 
or 
pressing 

challenge 
that 

spurs the story 
as it is a chance 
encounter 
between 
two 

customers, 
facilitated 
by 

Master’s 
quiet 
acceptance 

and the restaurant’s intimate 
atmosphere. Their individual 
stories intersect at Meshiya, 
where 
the 
true 
narrative 

begins.

While 
the 
series 
itself 

lacks meaningful action and 
structural variety, it makes 
up for it in heart. The premise 
appeals to our basic humanity 
— the feeling that we are 
understood 
and 
welcomed 

somewhere. That somewhere 
is Master’s diner, which serves 
as a character itself. The lone 
counter encloses Master in his 
kitchen, where he is surrounded 
by his customers. They interact 
with the diner as they would 
with another character, sharing 
their innermost thoughts and 
feelings. As they go about their 
lives, they continuously return 
to the diner where their actions 
and 
experiences 
are 
given 

meaning and context.

A taxi driver and former 

actress encounter a radio host 
one night in the first episode. 
At first, the two have nothing 
in common, as most strangers 
do, but the woman orders an 
unusual dish that strikes his 
curiosity and he begins to dig 
deeper into her life, uncovering 
a past she wished to forget. 
The understated emotion with 
which the two characters touch 
one another’s lives is reflective 
of the significance of a series 
like “Midnight Diner,” in which 
the focus of the series is not 
on the characters themselves, 
but on how their serendipitous 
interactions shape each other’s 
lives.

It may not be the most 

exciting series. The story and 
its action unfold primarily 
through the dialogue, making 
for lulls in the narrative’s 
development. But this allows 
for 
moments 
of 
poignant 

commentary and specific detail 
from the characters that bring 
to life the awareness we often 
lack for those around us.

Despite 
the 
cultural 

specificity of “Midnight Diner,” 
the series touches on a concept 
that is familiar to all: food 
and comfort. That’s probably 
why the series was adapted 
from the bestselling Japanese 
manga series Shinya Shokudo 
by Yaro Abe and later adapted 
into a film directed by Joji 
Matsuoka. There’s something 
both compelling and accessible 
about food that brings the wide 
variety of stories in “Midnight 
Diner” within reach of its 
audience. 
While 
customers 

come and go, Master, his diner 
and his food remain a constant 
— anchoring the series’ stories 
with harmony and compassion. 
 
 

SHIR AVINADAV

Daily Arts Writer

‘Diner’ serves up Japanese culture

A-

“Midnight Diner”

Episode One

All Episodes 

Available to Stream

Netflix

MUSIC NOTEBOOK

It’s a bold move to name a 

debut album 4 4 with track 
titles like “Koh-It-T Us” and 
“D a H J A” and it takes an 
even more talented singer-
songwriter to deliver.

Marz Léon does just that.
An alternative R&B artist, 

Léon released her nine-track 
album in late August with the 
intent to describe her personal 
experiences 
and 
emotions 

through a universal lens. In 
an interview with The Fader, 
Marz stated, “4 4 resembles 
my guardian angels protecting 
me 
through 
my 
struggles 

and helping to give me the 
willpower 
to 
continue 
to 

pursue my passion, everything 
that I love, and battles in 
my life.” Since then, the Los 
Angeles-based solo act has also 
recently directed, edited and 
released the music video for 
her latest single, “S O R E E,” 
herself.

4 4 opens with “Bipolar,” 

an emotional and electronic 
ode to heartbreak. With a 
steady, satisfying bass line, 
the first track leaves no stone 
unturned with direct lyrics 
like, “Heaven’s waiting for you 

/ Don’t put him up there / Put 
me up, don’t take him up,” and, 
“You’ll leave me drowning in 
your poison / Don’t leave me 
open.” Léon lays everything 
out on the table and segues 
seamlessly 
into 
“D.Frncs 

Interlude.”

The interlude is eerie and 

less musically invested as it is 
a reflection on Léon herself. 
She speaks, “Perhaps / This 
is the moment / When you’ve 
been chosen / To lead an 
army of broken soldiers / To 
lead a group of sheep / Into 
the lions’ den.” She preaches 
parables to her listeners about 
individuality, leadership and 
personal 
accountability. 
It’s 

powerful, short and makes 
a lasting impact early in the 
album.

“D a H J A” follows with 

heavy vocals and dramatic 
drumbeats 
that 
resonate 

throughout 
the 
body. 

Layering her own voice and 
interchanging it with breathy 
gasps adds a sensual element to 
an otherwise steady song. The 
bridge is strong and quick as 
Léon sings, “Pretend that you 
don’t hear me / Only I can feel 
me / Now I’m thinking clearly / 
Got to keep moving on.”

The second half of the album 

strays towards synthetics with 
“P a R a D I Z E.” Combining the 
ringing of bells and electronic 
elements 
with 
an 
acoustic 

guitar juxtaposes the sounds 
that Léon works to incorporate 
throughout 
the 
album. 

“Strangerz” slows things down 
and allows Léon to showcase 
her vocals. It’s a response to the 
opening “Bipolar” that spoke 
about heartbreak and betrayal. 
“Strangerz” reminisces on first 
encounters and young love as 
she sings, “We were strangers / 
‘Til we became one heart.”

4 4 doesn’t just appease 

Léon’s 
existing 
fans 
— 
it 

pushes her into mainstream 
listening. As she steadily gains 
popularity, Léon will soon 
reach more people than anyone 
thought possible. 

CATHERINE BAKER

Daily Arts Writer

Alternative R&B artist Marz Leon 
has a new album that you’ll love

‘4 4’ will appease existing fans and push her into the mainstream

“4 4 resembles my 

guardian 

angels protecting 

me.”

COMMUNITY CULTURE NOTEBOOK

On almost every road trip I’ve 

taken with my dad, whether it 
was a 20 minute drive to a soc-
cer game, or a ten-hour trip from 
Ann Arbor to Philly, I can always 
recall listening to Bob Dylan’s 
greatest hits. The six-set edition 
sat on the floor of my dad’s CRV, 
always an arms length away. 
Without looking, my dad would 
deliberately tell me which CD to 
put in and which track to play, as 
if he memorized the set list. The 
moment the pluck of Dylan’s gui-
tar rung the speakers of the CRV, 
my dad would be singing along.

I would sit in the passenger 

seat, staring out the window, lis-
tening to Dylan sing the words to 
“It’s Alright, Ma (I’m Only Bleed-
ing)” and “Subterranean Home-
sick Blues.” Quite frankly, I never 
thought much of it. 

“Now this is the original rap 

… not like that rap crap your gen-
eration listens to now,” my hip-
pie father would tell me with a 
chuckle. I knew his words were 
earnest. I questioned how this 
white dude from the ’60s could 
be considered a “rapper,” but the 
words of love, advocacy, protest 
and peace rattled in the car, and 
I was genuinely intrigued by 
Dylan’s music.

Little did I know, this “white 

dude from the ’60s” would be 
the first ever songwriter to win 
the Nobel Prize for Literature in 
2016.

If I had only known how influ-

ential Dylan would be in both the 
music world and the literature 
world, I would have paid more 
attention during the makeshift 
studio sessions in our CRV. But 
with Dylan winning this award 

and, of course, me being more 
mature, I could not help but go 
back and genuinely listen to his 
lyrics.

Recently, I sat on the floor of 

my best friend’s bedroom. Noah 
played “It’s Alright, Ma (I’m 
Only Bleeding)” on his speaker 
 
— a song I have not heard since 
I was riding in the car with my 
dad. The nostalgic words became 
meditative as Noah and I sat 
there in silence. We listened to 
Dylan preach an introduction in 
his rough singing voice:

Darkness at the break of noon
Shadows even the silver spoon
The handmade blade, the child’s 

balloon

Eclipses both the sun and moon
To understand you know too 

soon

There is no sense in trying.
These lyrics might not reso-

nate with everyone. However, 
from a writer’s perspective, these 
words sunk into my ears as if I 
were at a poetry reading. They 
lingered, 
provoking 
intuitive 

thought, meaning and feeling.

Since the announcement of the 

award, I have been listening to 
Dylan on repeat, not just because 
I enjoy his sound, but also 
because I hear his lyrics as prose. 
I think of those car rides with my 
dad and how insignificant they 
felt at the time. But now, as an 

aspiring writer and an avid music 
listener, Dylan’s style has begun 
to shape the way I see the cross 
pollination of musical lyrics and 
literature.

Regardless of my dad’s notion 

that Dylan is a rapper, there is 
no doubt in my mind that Dylan 
is a writer. Yet, I question: If his 
lyrics can be considered a prema-
ture style of rap, then can we con-
clude that rap is a form of poetry? 
And does this apply to all forms of 
rap, meaning that rap is a form of 
literature?

Maybe that theory is a stretch, 

but looking at Dylan through 
this lens opens up a brand new 
outlook on musical lyrics. Early 
folk artists like Simon & Garfun-
kel or Woody Guthrie created 
music that might also be seen as 
some style of prose storytelling, 
but where does that leave con-
temporary musical artists?

The argument with my dad 

over rap could continue, with me 
telling him that there are actu-
ally great rappers and artists 
nowadays including some of my 
favorites: J. Cole, Frank Ocean 
and Kanye West. But the genera-
tion gap between my dad’s music 
era and mine will probably never 
unite.

The real answer here lies 

within how we define literature 
and whether or not musical lyr-
ics, despite the genre, can be 
defined as literature. At the end 
of the day, my dad and I could 
definitely put Dylan as an early 
marker for original poetic com-
position, even if he wasn’t a rap-
per. But what I have found most 
profound are the barriers that 
Dylan broke, the controversy 
that will reside with his Nobel 
Prize and the outlook on future 
awards for literature and song-
writing. 

ERIKA SHEVCHEK

Daily Arts Writer

Is Nobel Prize winner Bob Dylan a 
rapper? My dad thinks that he is

Some hippies say the legendary folk artist was an early hip-hop pioneer

After Dylan won 
the award, I had to 
go back and listen 

to the lyrics.

It’s all about the comfort food in Netflix’s new original series

