I have to start by wishing my US friends a happy Thanksgiving. I keep being asked if we celebrate it in the UK, and yes, in a way, we do – getting rid of a troublesome and difficult to administer colony with no obvious assets, other than somewhere to send the criminals and a nice source of cotton. Of course, when the oil came –
How wrong we were.
But without that split, the USA wouldn’t have become the vital, vibrant nation it is today, wouldn’t have developed in the same way.
But that apart, the original meaning of Thanksgiving is being overtaken by a new meaning – a way of joining with families and a time just to be thankful, for the things that we have and the things we don’t. I love that aspect. It’s so – American. And it’s wonderful.
Europeans tend not to celebrate, unless it’s a win at football, but even then, it’s as much to sneer at the opposition for losing than it is the favoured team for winning. It’s all about rivalry, not about the winning. Oh yes, we have this thing called sportsmanship, the gentlemanly (and gentlewomanly) side that means you have to smile and shake hands and not cause a fuss. That’s also a subtle way of saying, “Of course, it’s only a game, and it’s not important.” The French tend to spit and jeer when they lose, the Germans cry. The British hit people, or things, and then they get drunk, but they get drunk win or lose. (And Manchester United versus Bayern Munich is always a highlight of the sporting calendar, but then, so is Manchester United versus Manchester City.
But we don’t celebrate our national character, our military personnel, or our victories, and I’m not talking about in battle. We don’t have a day to reflect and to thank. My British friends would be squirming in their seats at the thought, and that’s a bit of a shame.
The British are ironic in the extreme. Every day we think or do something ironic or cynical, or both at the same time, and that comes naturally to us. Introducing our friends to other people, “Of course, he’s a right misery-guts” or “Be prepared for her dreadful fashion sense” comes naturally, and I’ve seen Americans balk at this, because they’d say, “She’s a great person,” or “you’ll love her.” That I really like. Cynicism can get a bit wearing sometimes. It feeds into the national psyche. We are quick to leap on mistakes, which in one way is good. In another way, we get Simon Cowell, who had gone so far from the reality he started with that he’s no longer interesting. He’s as scripted and rehearsed as any of his employees.
Mind you, on the subject of Simon Cowell and the X-Factor, Go, Josh Krajcik!
When I first started visiting the US, the friendliness and the welcome overwhelmed me. It still does. I’ve made friends who are as dear to me as some of the friends I have here at home, and that’s not to denigrate any party, it’s the truth. I’m not sure how much that is due to meeting other authors and not having to pretend anymore. I do care about what I write, and other writers understand, whatever their nationality. We can discuss fictional characters as passionately as w e like and know that the person we’re talking to will understand. But the hospitality is wonderful, the welcome delightful.
On the other hand, you kind of know that something is going on underneath. Brits tend to be honest, sometimes brutally so, and the “if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all,” doesn’t work for us. It can work, but then the accusation of being a “bit of an American” creeps in. Saying “Have a nice day” with a sneer or an indifferent shrug, instead of leaving out the sentiment and just going with the sneer. Our diplomats excel at saying nothing while seeming to say something, but we have come a long way from the stiff upper lip of the nineteenth century. Or not. At least the hypocritical nationality and the jingoism is largely absent these days. I value honesty very highly, but I also value consideration. Don’t hit someone when they’re down.
Oh yes, and the British know how to party.
Having spent some time immersing myself in American TV and media, I can see a lot of differences. The news programs are more aggressive, the camera angles on the newsreaders a tiny bit closer, the cameras set a tiny bit higher. The colours are more vivid, the quality of the picture different. And the content is far more overly partisan than I’m used to. Or maybe I’m used to a certain partisanship that I don’t notice. I have no idea whether the media reflects the public psyche or creates it. I suspect it’s a bit of both, but since one major US network is run by a man who was originally Australian, and took nationality to suit his business interests, rather than in any sense of loyalty to a place, then it looks even more like a bit of both.
It’s subtle, but it’s there, and to be honest, I love it. I love the differences. That’s what keeps me coming back year after year, and why I love the friends I’ve made there. Why I love writing for the American market. That inner optimism, that Panglossian brightness that is so endearing and makes the Americans seem naïve to the average European. Of course, nothing could be further from the truth. The average American just sees things differently. We Europeans might be the naïve ones.
