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I just had the opportunity to see an opera, Carolina Uccelli’s Anna di Resburgo, in only its second performance since its premiere in 1835.
Uccelli’s story is itself operatic. Born Carolina Pazzini to a family of minor nobility around Florence, she was the first woman in Italy to pursue a career as a theatrical composer and the only one to have works performed in a major theater during that era.
A musical prodigy, she published a collection of ariettas and cavatinas at the age of 17. Her first opera, Saul, debuted three years later, followed by Anna in 1835. Yet while she continued to compose a number of smaller compositions and gave (alongside her daughter) well-received performances in Amsterdam, London, Milan and Munich, her memory largely vanished after her untimely death in 1858.
Even though her early work was championed by Rossini, today she is almost wholly forgotten. Not a single copy of her first or third operas, Saul and Eufemio da Messina, survives, and only one manuscript of Anna was preserved.
Bad luck played a role in her descent into invisibility. Anna was overshadowed by the premiere of an operatic classic, Donezetti’s Lucia di Lammermoor, also set in Scotland, which premiered just a month earlier. Her husband’s death in 1843 may well have pressured her to perform rather than compose.
Recovered by Teatro Nuovo, an opera company founded in 2018 to revive classic Italian opera and showcase young talent, Anna is a gem. As The New York Times titles its review, “A Lost Opera Returns and Shouldn’t Be Lost Again.”
These are difficult days for the fine arts, as arts attendance falls, orchestras downsize, opera companies and symphonies trim their programming, and a growing number of museums close their doors. A lament for the loss of artistry in dance by Jennifer Homans in The New Republic is even more true today than when she wrote these words in 2010:
“Contemporary choreography veers aimlessly from unimaginative imitation to strident innovation usually in the form of gymnastic or melodramatic excess, accentuated by overzealous lighting and special effects.”
The key problems facing the arts echoes what’s occurring in the academy—the “overproduction” of young talent in the arts relative to the number of available jobs and abrupt shifts in “consumer” demand.
If the fine arts are to flourish, they must nurture young talent and provide places where they can hone their craft and perform. Teatro Nuovo has precisely that goal—but the fact that it has no dedicated performance space and could only present Anna two times (once at Montclair State University in New Jersey and again at Jazz at Lincoln Center) epitomizes the challenges ahead.
Anna raises difficult issues about the operatic repertoire and representation. For the most part, the public prefers warhorses like Mozart’s Così fan tutte, Don Giovanni, The Magic Flute and The Marriage of Figaro; Verdi’s Aida, La Traviata and Rigoletto; Puccini’s La Bohème, Madame Butterfly, Tosca and Turandot; and Wagner’s The Flying Dutchman, Tannhäuser, Lohengrin, Parsifal and Tristan und Isolde.
But what about the works that have been overlooked or excluded or the bias against more recent works and those influenced by jazz and other contemporary musical styles? And what about providing new talent, like Elisse Albian, Santiago Ballerini, Chelsea Lehnea, Lucas Levy, Ricardo José Rivera, Anne Marie Stanley and Camille Zamora, opportunities to shine?
That role is largely left to small companies that struggle to gain recognition and support, like Teatro Nuovo. Rather than showcasing new, cutting-edge works, this organization focuses on works that were unfortunately overlooked. Its mission statement cites Giuseppe Verdi’s counsel: “Tornate all’antico e sarà un progresso”—moving forward requires relearning the past. In its words, “We immerse ourselves in opera’s history not to turn back the clock, but to discover how its riches can be transmitted to the 21st century.”
We in the humanities should take that sentiment to heart.
Perhaps you recall an episode from The Simpsons’ first season, in which Krusty the Klown is framed for armed robbery by his resentful sidekick, Sideshow Bob.
In one of the episode’s opening scenes, Krusty asks a young girl how she’d like to celebrate her birthday: “Do you want me to sing you a birthday song? Or do you want me to shoot Sideshow Bob out of a cannon?”
Bart and Lisa reply, “The cannon! The cannon!”
Rather than writing about that kind of cannon, I’ll write instead about its much-contested homophone, the canon.
In recent years, the idea of a canon—whether in art, literature, music or philosophy—is as likely to produce rancor and resentment as Krusty the Klown’s big gun.
Driving the controversy are, of course, concerns over cultural representation, power dynamics, shifting aesthetic criteria and the canon’s educational and political implications. These debates reflect broader societal shifts toward inclusivity and recognition of diversity, challenging traditional notions of cultural and intellectual authority.
Traditional canons have often been criticized for showcasing works by white, male, Western authors, composers and artists to the exclusion and undervaluation of voices of women and people of color. There’s also a sense that the canon has been used to uphold existing power structures and cultural hegemony by promoting certain works while disregarding others.
Rather than viewing the canon as a repository of universal values, critics see it as a reflection of certain privileged ideological and political positions.
Then there’s the sense that the canon is arbitrary and subjective. As aesthetic values, tastes and criteria for what constitutes great art have changed over time, works once regarded as canonical have been downgraded. Meanwhile, the rise of new artistic forms, including the revaluation of photography and film as serious art forms and, more recently, the emergence of digital art and multimedia installations, has challenged traditional criteria and prompted a rethinking of what belongs in the canon.
Also, as recognition of the cultural and artistic value of popular music and other media has grown, the distinction between high and low culture has eroded, accompanied by calls for a broader understanding of what constitutes canonical work.
Then there’s the pedagogical argument that the curriculum needs to reflect a more diverse range of voices and perspectives, to address historical biases in what is taught and to engage students who might otherwise feel that their cultural identity is unrepresented in the classroom.
A new book by the intellectual historian Rochelle Gurstein, Written in Water: The Ephemeral Life of the Classic in Art, asks questions about the literary, artistic, musical and philosophical canons well worth pondering: Are there timeless classics? Are there artistic or philosophical reputations that defy shifts in taste?
Gurstein, who is also the author of an important study of The Repeal of Reticence: America’s Cultural and Legal Struggles Over Free Speech, Obscenity, Sexual Liberation and Modern Art, reveals that many once revered works subsequently fell into obscurity. The Venus de’ Medici, for three centuries considered a high point in classical sculpture, “now stands in Florence’s Uffizi neglected, visitors passing her by with nary a glance.” Raphael’s reputation, once considered the equal of Leonardo’s or Michelangelo’s, has also sunk, while the Mona Lisa’s fame soared after the theft of it in 1911.
Gurstein is certainly right to insist that there is no universal or timeless standards of beauty or taste and that aesthetic hierarchies have shifted over time. We value originality in painting and devalue verisimilitude, which we dismiss as mere illustration, derivative, banal and uninspired. In stark contrast to their Victorian forebears, today’s critics place little or no value on artworks that are morally uplifting and tend to denigrate recent paintings with “representational, spiritual or historical content” while often lauding those with a political agenda.
Yet the existence of seminal works that have withstood the test of time is undeniable. These works transcend their original contexts and continue to influence and engage audiences and thinkers across generations. Their lasting impact can be attributed to several factors, including their pioneering modes of expression, innovative ideas and ability to participate in an ongoing, global conversation about fundamental human experiences and concepts.
These are works that redefined the possibilities of musical, literary and artistic expression and that continue to be central reference points in moral, philosophical and theological discussion. These works pioneer new modes of expression and thought, engage in an ongoing cultural conversation and transcend their original contexts, providing benchmarks against which subsequent works can be measured and understood.
In a 2020 essay, Simon During, an English professor at the University of Melbourne, argued that we are witnessing “a loss of status and perceived functionality on the part of ‘high’ cultural canons”:
“Quite suddenly, having a detailed knowledge of and love for Bach’s music, say, stopped being a marker of a ‘cultured’ or ‘civilized’ person and became just a matter of opinion and personal interest.”
At the same time, there has been a “loss of belief in the ethical and intellectual value of the traditional academic humanities disciplines.” The idea that the “high” humanities should occupy a privileged place at the heart of the academic enterprise has faded.
During attributes these trends to three developments: the association of European high culture with colonialism, patriarchy and white supremacy; the neoliberal emphasis on value determined by the marketplace; and the professional specialization that has narrowed academic expertise.
A postcanonical humanities—free from earlier cultural hierarchies and Eurocentrism—has emerged. No longer does it seem essential at universities like mine to teach the history of medieval or early modern Europe or intellectual history. Many English departments at leading universities no longer teach medieval, Renaissance or even modernist literature.
Rice University’s English Department is not atypical. Its areas of specialization include Culture & Social Change, Visual & Comparative Media, Science, Medicine & Environment and Creative Writing.
At the heart of the notion of a canon is the recognition that ideas and various forms of artistic, literary, musical and philosophical expression do not exist in isolation. Instead, they have lineages and heritages that form a continuous thread through history. The canon provides a historical context that helps us trace the evolution of ideas and artistic forms
Understanding and appreciating what is new involves recognizing how it differs from and builds upon what came before. After all, new works often innovate by reacting to or departing from canonical traditions. Canonical works engage in a dialogue across generations and build upon earlier foundations.
Not only does the canon serve as a repository of works that have been recognized for their excellence and enduring significance, studying the canon prompts students to compare and contrast different periods, styles and philosophies.
A well-rounded education should involve studying canonical works to gain a deep understanding of our cultural heritage. This foundation allows students to better appreciate contemporary works and to understand the historical and cultural forces that shape artistic and intellectual expression.
In a 1995 address, then president Bill Clinton had this to say about affirmative action: “Mend it, don’t end it.” That phrase, which encapsulated Clinton’s centrist liberalism (like his call for abortion to be “safe, legal and rare”), reflects my own view of the canon. Acknowledge its flaws. Address valid criticisms. Recover neglected works. Broaden the canon to include diverse voices and contemporary works.
But it’s equally important to retain traditional masterworks of art, literature, music and philosophy. These works have withstood the test of time and provide essential benchmarks and historical context. Also, new works often respond to, reinterpret or challenge these classics, creating a rich intertextual dialogue. Understanding the structural complexities of Beethoven’s symphonies or the thematic depth of Shakespeare’s plays allows us to better appreciate innovations and deviations in contemporary music and literature.
The older notion of a canon needs to be subjected to searching criticism. After all, it wasn’t diverse or inclusive, nor did it speak to many issues of relevance today. It did tend to be narrowly Eurocentric and male-biased. Nevertheless, knowledge of a more traditional canon remains essential, because it provides a critical benchmark against which other works respond and react and ensures a deeper understanding of cultural evolution and artistic dialogue.
Teaching both traditional and diverse works allows students to appreciate the evolution of ideas and artistic forms. It also fosters critical thinking by exposing students to a wide range of perspectives, while encouraging them to engage in the dialogue between past and present.
Only by balancing the traditional canon with the inclusion of new voices can we ensure a rich, comprehensive and dynamic understanding of our cultural and intellectual heritage.
After nearly two centuries of neglect, Carolina Uccelli’s Anna di Resburgo deserves to be added to the operatic repertoire. The piece exhibits a high level of technical skill, explores fascinating themes involving self-interest and self-sacrifice, and evokes strong emotional responses through its poignant melodies, dynamic contrasts and intricate textures. This work raises fascinating questions about whether it reflects a distinctive feminine (or even proto-feminist) sensibility.
Canons should not remain static. They should evolve over time, embracing new ideas and modes of expression. By allowing canons to adapt, we can include voices and perspectives previously marginalized, ensuring that these texts and artworks continue to inspire and educate future generations.
