Here’s what you do not know about the 1960s:  no one used the word “hippie.”

It was meaningless, it was very TV. This media-generated term first appeared in The San Francisco Examiner in 1965 and should have evaporated.  Never in conversation did anyone say “hippie.”  Never did anyone identify herself as a “hippie.” Some called themselves “freaks” to denote their status in “alternative culture.”

Some freaks were philosophical, others full-fledged radicals.  They gardened, read, listened to music, protested against the war, discussed politics.  And what culture did they pass on to our generation?

BOOKS I READ ON THE RECOMMENDATION OF FREAKS

The Feminine Mystique, by Betty Friedan.  This landmark book made me realize, “Oh!  I don’t have to be a housewife.”

Dune, by Frank Herbert.  This ecological science fiction classic was a perfect match for The Environmental Handbook and The Population Bomb, two best-selling books about the environment. Dune is brilliant, entertaining, and still relevant today, though the others may be a bit dated.

Gandhi’s Autobiography: The Story of My Experiments with Truth. I am awed by Gandhi and read this on the recommendation of a woman who read autobiographies instead of self-help books.

Our Bodies, Ourselves.  A guide to women’s health, birth control, abortion, and taking control of our bodies, published by the Boston Women’s Health Book Collective in 1970 and since revised.

Vanity Fair, by William Makepeace Thackeray.  A brilliant Victorian novel centered on the exploits of the rogue, Becky Sharp.  Scarlett in Gone with the Wind is obviously based on Becky.

The Blithedale Romance, by Nathaniel Hawthorne.  Hawthorne lived briefly in a commune in Massachusetts.  In his charming novel,  The Blithedale Romance, the narrator Miles Coverdale charts the rise and inevitable fall of the commune at Blithedale Farm.

I also read other people’s coffee table books on Renoir, Dali, and Alex Katz

BOOKS I CHOSE FOR THEIR HIP COVERS IN FREAKDOM

Steppenwolf, by Herman Hesse.  This psychedelic novel impressed me at the time, but on a recent rereading I was horrified by the misogynistic final scene. There is also a movie with Max Von Sydow.

Buddenbrooks, by Thomas Mann.  I saw the German movie, then read the book in translation.

Fear of Flying, by Erica Jong.  Influenced by the renegade Henry Miller, Jong was an overnight sensation and her sexy autobiographical novel was considered groundbreaking. 

Sexual Politics, by Kate Millet. Millet’s best-selling book of literary criticism temporarily destroyed my confidence in my taste. She attacked male writers on the basis of their sexism, including D. H. Lawrence. Ultimately, I rejected this book because her radicalism did not serve literature well. Long live Lawrence’s novels and poetry!

In This House of Brede, by Rumer Godden.  I went to church after reading this novel but decided I had no vocation to be a nun, thank God!  Godden wrote three fascinating nun novels, the most famous of which is Black Narcissus. In This House of Brede is the best.

ARE MOVIES TOO COMMERCIAL?

None of the “freaks” I knew attended movies. “Beautiful women and handsome men,” one friend mocked as I got ready to go to a Hardy adaptation.

She was right, but I enjoyed the film.

Since the pandemic I have adopted and adapted her philosophy. “Beautiful women, handsome men… and monsters.”

What happened to the movies?