Well read?
It’s a blog meme. Another one.
This time though, it’s not about music but about literature. Specifically it’s about the books nominated by the BBC’s “Big Read” as being the 100 best in the English language. Actually, scanning the list, there’s a few translations on it (The Bible, Anna Karenina, One Hundred Years of Solitude, etc.) so I assume it’s “the best ever” rather than the best in the English language (though the small number of translations obviously reveal the Anglocentric nature of the list).
That said, the fact that there’s not a single book by Thomas Pynchon — who would have at least 3 in my top 10, let alone top 100 — suggests that whoever compiled the BBC’s list (possibly “the public”) don’t share my view of what makes good literature. In fact, the more I look at the list, the more I cringe at the utter dross to be found on it, and all the excellent writing not there. I suspect my response to this meme will be relatively controversial as I can count on the fingers of two hands the number of books written prior to 1920 (or thereabouts) that I consider worthwhile.
Anyways, the BBC apparently reckons that “the average adult” has only read 6 of the top 100 books. It kind of goes without saying then, that I’m a long way from “average”, though to be honest, I feel certain that the BBC is short-changing the public with that claim. Surely most people have read more than six from the list, even if only at school.
So yeah, via Phil at The Gaping Silence, on with the memery…
1) Look at the list and bold those you have read.
2) Italicize those you intend to read.
3) Underline the books you love.
4) Strike out the books you have no intention of ever reading, or hated.
5) Reprint this list in your own blog so we can try and track down these people who’ve only read 6 and force books upon them.
- Pride and Prejudice – Jane Austen
Let’s kick off with a sound kicking. Jane Austen (like the Brontes, Thomas Hardy, William Shakespeare and Charles Dickens) is staggeringly over-rated. Criminally so. It still mystifies me how anyone can read this pre-modern toss and not find it contrived, stultifyingly-dull bullshit. - The Lord of the Rings – JRR Tolkien
Read this when I was a kid and it had a deep and lasting impact on me. Looking back on it, there’s flaws a-plenty, but it’s definitely some of the finest children’s literature ever written (even if that wasn’t JRR’s intention). - Jane Eyre – Charlotte Bronte
See #1 - The Harry Potter Series – JK Rowling
I read a quarter of the first one and saw the film. Neither made me want to journey any further with Rowling. Ursula K. LeGuin did it so much better. - To Kill a Mockingbird – Harper Lee
A work of genius. My taste in literature tends towards the American. I blame a shop-lifted Bukowski when I was 11 years old for that. To Kill A Mockingbird was borrowed from the library soon afterwards, though. - The Bible
I’ve read it start-to-finish (skipping a few chapters of who-begat-who) twice. Both times it left me feeling confused and a little depressed. I mean, most of it isn’t even particularly well-written; how the hell did it cast such a dark shadow on the human heart? - Wuthering Heights – Emily Bronte
See #1 - Nineteen Eighty Four – George Orwell
I suspect regular readers will already know my opinion of this book, and of Orwell’s writing in general (finest essayist in the English language). This is his crowning achievement as a novelist. - His Dark Materials – Philip Pullman
I’ve heard the rave reviews. But it just doesn’t appeal to me for some reason. - Great Expectations – Charles Dickens
Fucking Charles motherfucking Dickens! What a complete waste of paper. Yeah yeah, shining a light on Victorian society blah blah fricking blah. I read this at school and recall thinking very early on, “hang on a second, even back then nobody spoke like this”. It’s sanitised, soul-less writing that fails to evoke even a single emotion in me. Just as with Shakespeare; it’s British colonialism that has secured the worldwide reputation of Charles Dickens; nothing to do with innate talent. Nothing at all. - Little Women – Louisa M Alcott
- Tess of the D’Urbervilles – Thomas Hardy
Don’t need to read it. Hardy is shit. End of. - Catch 22 – Joseph Heller
This was so highly recommended that I recall being a little disappointed when I finally read it. Still a worthy thing. Not a patch on Vonnegut though, who did this kind of thing so much better, and is unsurprisingly not on this list. - Complete Works of Shakespeare
Oh come on! The complete works? That narrows it down to a few fools with more time than sense. I’ve read most of the famous ones, a couple of lesser-known ones and a handful of sonnets. None of them roused more than a yawn. Yeah, I know that puts me firmly in a tiny minority. But then, that’s where I’ve always been happiest. Shakespeare is a great writer, Oasis is a great band, Last of The Summer Wine is great television. Seriously, what the fuck does “the majority” know about great art? - Rebecca – Daphne Du Maurier
- The Hobbit – JRR Tolkien
- Birdsong – Sebastian Faulks
- Catcher in the Rye – JD Salinger
Always felt it was a wee bit over-rated to be honest. But again, like Catch-22, a worthwhile read all the same. - The Time Traveller’s Wife – Audrey Niffenegger
First one on the list I’ve never even heard of. Guess there were bound to be a couple… - Middlemarch – George Eliot
Read it at school. Rather wish I hadn’t. - Gone With The Wind – Margaret Mitchell
- The Great Gatsby – F Scott Fitzgerald
One of the few great examples of pre-modern literature. Though obviously, published in 1925, it’s actually in the modern era, this is not a post-Ulysses novel in anything but chronology. All the same, it rises above the dry, emotionless bullshit of pre-modern literature thanks to some wonderfully crafted characters. It’ll probably be the only novel of its type that I’ll end up underlining. - Bleak House – Charles Dickens
Don’t even get me started on this one. I read this as part of a book club I joined at university. I read it under duress (having made my feelings about Dickens well known) but decided I’d stick it out… after all, I wouldn’t like it if the others in the group refused to read my picks. I left the club soon after though… everyone but me claimed to get a lot out of Dickens. And hell, maybe they did. Maybe they weren’t just dazzled by the emperor’s presence. But clearly it wasn’t the book club for me. Thankfully I met my friend Justin soon afterwards, who was reading Gravity’s Rainbow at the time. A far better class of comrade. - War and Peace – Leo Tolstoy
To my shame, I’ve still not got round to it. Pre-Joycean Russian literature doesn’t seem to suffer from the same lifelessness as almost all of the English-language stuff (obviously there are exceptions to that, by the way). Or perhaps it’s just the fact that we’re only aware of the exceptionally good stuff over here beyond the translators? - The Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy – Douglas Adams
A fine book. And the follow-ups were largely excellent too. - Brideshead Revisited – Evelyn Waugh
- Crime and Punishment – Fyodor Dostoyevsky
A fine novel, but if you’re new to Dostoyevsky, then you should really start with The Idiot, which didn’t make this list. - Grapes of Wrath – John Steinbeck
- Alice in Wonderland – Lewis Carroll
- The Wind in the Willows – Kenneth Grahame
- Anna Karenina – Leo Tolstoy
- David Copperfield – Charles Dickens
Complete wank. - Chronicles of Narnia – CS Lewis
- Emma – Jane Austen
I read this. See #1 - Persuasion – Jane Austen
I didn’t read this. See #1 - The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe – CS Lewis
- The Kite Runner – Khaled Hosseini
- Captain Corelli’s Mandolin – Louis De Bernieres
- Memoirs of a Geisha – Arthur Golden
Overwrought. Over-rated. Over-long. - Winnie the Pooh – AA Milne
A classic. A work of towering genius. - Animal Farm – George Orwell
This is a decent novel, but it doesn’t scale the heights of Nineteen Eighty-Four. Orwell was best as an essayist anyway. - The Da Vinci Code – Dan Brown
Frankly I’d rather eat my own flesh than read this airport-novel nonsense. - One Hundred Years of Solitude – Gabriel Garcia Marquez
- A Prayer for Owen Meaney – John Irving
- The Woman in White – Wilkie Collins
- Anne of Green Gables – LM Montgomery
- Far From The Madding Crowd – Thomas Hardy
Far From The Madding Crowd? Bollocks, more like. - The Handmaid’s Tale – Margaret Atwood
- Lord of the Flies – William Golding
I actually thought JG Ballard’s quasi-retelling of this story in Rushing To Paradise was ultimately better. Golding’s is a fine book though. - Atonement – Ian McEwan
Enduring Love was a good novel (shit film though. Really shit film). I’m not sure he’s really written anything half as good though. Certainly I thought Atonement was very weak; like so many on this list, frighteningly over-rated; and more concerned with making sure the reader spots the intricate allusions to literary “greats” than telling a story. A let down. - Life of Pi – Yann Martel
- Dune – Frank Herbert
I read all the Dune novels as a teenager. Yes, even the later ones when he was obviously milking a cash-cow. That said, God Emperor of Dune turned out to be the best in my view (in the sense of the most mind-bendingly far out, which is kind of what you want from your science-fiction) - Cold Comfort Farm – Stella Gibbons
Second one on the list I’ve not heard of. Am I missing out, I wonder? - Sense and Sensibility – Jane Austen
Just fuck off, will you. How much “I’m told this is great, so I’ll vote for it” shit is on this list anyway? - A Suitable Boy – Vikram Seth
Meh. Over-rated. - The Shadow of the Wind – Carlos Ruiz Zafon
I’m surprised this made the list as it’s pretty obscure (I think) as well as being rather good. It’s heavily influenced by Borges (of course) and kind of suffers by comparison in my eyes. All the same, well worth reading, both as a commentary on Franco’s Spain, and as a well-spun yarn. - A Tale Of Two Cities – Charles Dickens
Not read this one. Safe to say I never will. Fucking Dickens! - Brave New World – Aldous Huxley
One of my favourites. For the ideas, not the writing (which I grant you is a tad ropey at times). One of the few “must reads” in my opinion. - The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time – Mark Haddon
Any good, this? I’ve heard all the praise, but am yet to be convinced. - Love In The Time Of Cholera – Gabriel Garcia Marquez
- Of Mice and Men – John Steinbeck
- Lolita – Vladimir Nabokov
- The Secret History – Donna Tartt
Third one I’ve not heard of. - The Lovely Bones – Alice Sebold
This one’s been recommended by a couple of people whose views I respect. And the synopsis certainly sounds intriguing. On the “will get to it eventually” list. - Count of Monte Cristo – Alexandre Dumas
- On The Road – Jack Kerouac
A classic. People call it over-rated, and then go back to reading Charles Fucking Dickens. They need a good slap, frankly. This is a hugely important novel, and a wonderful read. Another on the “must read” list. - Jude the Obscure – Thomas Hardy
It’s just bad writing. OK? Read some Pynchon ferchristsakes! Something with soul. Something with balls! - Bridget Jones’s Diary – Helen Fielding
There’s a bigger chance of me eating my body-weight in goldfish than of reading this novel. - Midnight’s Children – Salman Rushdie
Rushdie is another writer I find somewhat overwrought and over-rated. This is probably the best of the three of his books that I’ve read. Still quite dull though. - Moby Dick – Herman Melville
- Oliver Twist – Charles Dickens
When you look at the number of books on this list that I’ve read and hated, it’s a wonder I’ve not been put off literature for life. Because this is real, passionate, deep-seated hatred here not some casual dislike. I hate the way Dickens writes English. I hate every word that emerges from the mouths of his cardboard cut-out characters. And I find the social commentary trite and obvious to the point of absurdity. - Dracula – Bram Stoker
Meh. Good for its time. But that’s not saying much. - The Secret Garden – Frances Hodgson Burnett
- Notes From A Small Island – Bill Bryson
Bryson holds no interest for me whatsoever. I’m willing to be convinced on the matter, but frankly, I’ve never met anyone who felt strongly enough about his writing to bother trying. Which says all I need to know about it. - Ulysses – James Joyce
Let me start by saying that if I was compiling this list, Ulysses would be #1. It’s one of the very few books that deserves the incredible critical acclaim it has received. In my view, you can firmly locate the beginning of ‘the modern era’ with the publication of Ulysses. For better or worse. It’s one of the very very small number of novels that I’ve read more than once (three times so far, and I’m planning on a fourth next year) and one of the very very small number of things that makes me positively proud to be a human being. If aliens from SpaceLand arrive and threaten to obliterate us unless we can demonstrate our worth as a species, I’ll be there, clutching a copy of Ulysses, and insisting that a species that can produce this novel deserves to survive. People tell me it’s an impossible book to read. I just look at them as though they’re mad. For me, it’s an impossible book not to read. - The Bell Jar – Sylvia Plath
- Swallows and Amazons – Arthur Ransome
- Germinal – Emile Zola
- Vanity Fair – William Makepeace Thackeray
Meh. Over-rated but worth a read if you’re interested in 19th century England. I was when I read it. I’m not really anymore, but I’m glad I was when I was. Y’dig? - Possession – AS Byatt
It’s been recommended. Not sure I’ll get round to it any time soon, but it’s another for that “eventually” list. - A Christmas Carol – Charles Dickens
Never read it. Scrooged was a funny film back when I was seventeen, though. But that had more to do with Bill Murray than Charles Dickens I wager. - Cloud Atlas – David Mitchell
- The Color Purple – Alice Walker
- The Remains of the Day – Kazuo Ishiguro
- Madame Bovary – Gustave Flaubert
Supposed to be wonderful. I doubt it somehow, but it’s on the “eventually” list nonetheless. - A Fine Balance – Rohinton Mistry
- Charlotte’s Web – EB White
- The Five People You Meet In Heaven – Mitch Albom
I was given this as a gift just prior to a trip to the States. I never finished it, and wound up watching Mr. Bean re-runs on the plane instead. Which tells you a lot about the book. I find Mr. Bean very irritating. - Adventures of Sherlock Holmes – Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
I’ve read them all. Every single one. At least twice. Holmes was a hero of mine (still is to an extent) and I could read those stories again and still get a huge amount from them. - The Faraway Tree Collection – Enid Blyton
I have fond memories of these books from when I was 7 or 8. Not sure how well Enid Blyton would stand up to an adult-reading, but heartily recommended for 7 year olds! - Heart of Darkness – Joseph Conrad
- The Little Prince – Antoine De Saint-Exupery
- The Wasp Factory – Iain Banks
Not as good as some of his subsequent novels (The Crow Road still being my personal favourite and one that would be underlined were it on this list), but a classic all the same. Filled with disturbing imagery though. - Watership Down – Richard Adams
Neither the novel nor the film ever really grabbed me the way they grabbed lots of people I know. Not a complete waste of time though. - A Confederacy of Dunces – John Kennedy Toole
- A Town Like Alice – Nevil Shute
- The Three Musketeers – Alexandre Dumas
- Hamlet – William Shakespeare
Not content with having this on the list once (as part of the complete works) the BBC have insisted on putting it in twice. And sadly, Shakespeare’s no better a writer second-time round. Dumb nonsense filled with unlikeable characters, plot holes and incomprehensible dialogue. Fuck off Mr. Shakespeare and take your rhyming couplets with you, you big arse. - Charlie and the Chocolate Factory – Roald Dahl
Not a patch on Danny The Champion of The World. But a good kids book nevertheless. - Les Miserables – Victor Hugo
So yeah, 64/100 and some controversial statements, no doubt. But what else is a blog good for, eh?
To wrap up, let me add a short list of books that would have made the top 100 if it had been compiled by someone concerned with good writing rather than tradition. No particular order, by the way, and consider them all ‘underlined’.
- Vineland – Thomas Pynchon
Considered the least of his novels, I think Vineland is damn-near perfect. Gloriously absurd and vitally important all at once. I would also, genuinely, add every single other novel he’s written to the top 100 list. There’s only seven of them, so if you take out Dickens, Austen, Hardy and Shakespeare you’ll have plenty of room for them. - Vermillion Sands – JG Ballard
One of his lesser known books, Vermillion Sands is actually a collection of 5 or 6 short-stories set in the same town. It’s my favourite of his books, but isn’t the only one that merits mention. Rushing To Paradise, The Day of Creation, Concrete Island, Cocaine Nights and all of his short-story collections are highly recommended. - Timequake – Kurt Vonnegut
Like with Pynchon’s Vineland, I seem — even with those authors I love dearly — to gravitate towards the less critically-acclaimed novels. Timequake is a bleak, depressing and very funny book and is probably my favourite Vonnegut novel. Others I loved… Slaughterhouse-Five, The Sirens of Titan, The Breakfast of Champions, Player Piano and Slapstick (or, Lonesome No More). - Collected Essays – George Orwell
Utterly essential. There’s more wisdom and insight contained in the essays of Orwell than can be found in the combined literature of the preceeding 6 centuries. - Dubliners – James Joyce
It’s not Ulysses. But then, other than Ulysses, what is? - Huckleberry Finn / Tom Sawyer – Mark Twain
Only read these quite recently, oddly enough, and they are far far better than any pre-20th century writing has a right to be. - Nova Express – William S. Burroughs
And you can add pretty much his entire output to the list. To me, Nova Express is the absolute zenith of the cut-up technique. It manages to deconstruct not only language, but the very thought-processes of the reader, while simultaneously telling a story. It’s the novel that The Ticket That Exploded was trying to be, but just fell short of. - Tales of Ordinary Madness – Charles Bukowski
The collection of stories that made me decide to become a writer (after The Lord of The Rings had sown the initial seed). It was the first time I’d read a book that felt genuine and real to me. It’s dark and unpleasant at times, and entirely inappropriate for an 11-year-old. But if anyone wants to trace the major influences on my own strange writing style, then pick up a copy of this book and all will be revealed. - Stone Junction – Jim Dodge
It takes balls to walk in Pynchon’s footsteps. Jim Dodge has them. And isn’t doing too bad a job of it. - Steppenwolf – Hermann Hesse
A huge novel for me in my teens. Helped me realise I wasn’t just mad, and that other people had thought the same things as me. Which was comforting if nothing else. - Flow My Tears, The Policeman Said – Philip K. Dick
Not the greatest writer in the world (technically speaking) but a man with more great ideas than almost anyone else. His short-stories tend to be better than his novels (in my view). No doubt there’ll be those who point to his final three novels as being The Great Ones, and they are indeed Great, but this is the one that had the greatest impact on me when I first read it and the one that has lingered most prominently in my memory. - Pattern Recognition – William Gibson
Although I’m a big fan of his early cyberpunk stuff (I loved his cameo in Wild Palms… “Hi, I’d like you to meet William Gibson, he’s the man who coined the term cyberspace, you know?” Gibson (under his breath); “yeah, and they won’t let me forget it!”) I feel he’s really started to come into his own as a writer more recently. Like Jim Dodge, his later stuff is — dare I say it — “Pynchonesque”.
And there’s plenty more of course. Those are ‘top of the head’ suggestions. My fiction is in another room, so I’m probably missing out someone utterly vital. Looking at the bookshelf in this room, however, I’d suggest that the complete works of Freud (all 24 volumes) should be on the list, as should The Politics of Ecstasy by Timothy Leary, Robert Anton Wilson’s Quantum Psychology, Einstein’s Ideas and Opinions as well as Relativity, Colin Tudge’s So Shall We Reap, Carl Jung’s Memories, Dreams, Reflections, the collected works of Nietzsche, Lacan’s Écrits (still not read most of it, but I recognise its worth) and — it goes without saying I’m sure — Gregory Bateson’s Steps To an Ecology of Mind.
Jane Austen (like the Brontes, Thomas Hardy, William Shakespeare and Charles Dickens) is staggeringly over-rated. Criminally so.
What utter bollocks. All of the above are, in different ways, great writers – like Pynchon, like Conrad, like Joyce and very much unlike Oasis or J.K. Rowling or Douglas Adams or George Orwell.
I don’t know how anyone can read the Harry Potter books and not think “this is just Jennings and Darbishire of Earthsea, and not written as well as either of them”. I don’t know how anyone can read Helen Fielding or Bill Bryson and not think “he/she got paid for this?” And I don’t know how anyone can read Wuthering Heights or Jude the Obscure or King Lear (or the Sonnets) or Great Expectations or Middlemarch and not recognise a great work of fiction. Middlemarch is, I think, my third favourite novel ever – after Billy Liar and The third policeman, just ahead of The Unconsoled. (Have you read that, by the way?)
the dry, emotionless bullshit of pre-modern literature
I used to think anything written before Ulysses was unreadable – not helped by an encounter with David Copperfield, which I found arse-achingly boring. Then I discovered I was wrong.
August 8th, 2008 | 7:45am
by Phil
Or Emma – Jane Austen rocks. You just need to tune in.
August 8th, 2008 | 7:49am
by Phil
You must read Cold Comfort Farm, it’s wonderful for many reasons – one of which is its attitude to certain strands within Victorian and Edwardian fiction that you seem to rather dislike.
Phil: Jennings and Derbyshire of Earthsea – brilliant!
August 8th, 2008 | 8:24am
by Rochenko
Phil: “what utter bollocks”, etc.
Sorry Phil, but I ain’t never gonna tune into that particular voice. I mean, seriously, look at the list and the ones I’ve already read. Add to that the plenty of pre-modern fiction that failed to make the list that I’ve also forced my way through (in the hope that I would eventually unearth whatever it is that everyone else sees in those writers, but I don’t). It’s really not that I haven’t tried. That I haven’t given these writers more than a fair chance. It’s that I find them dreadfully dull. To the point that I occasionally slip back into the paranoia of my drug-addled youth and assume that Dickens, Austen and the rest are actually a joke and everyone is secretly sniggering at my numerous failed attempts to take them seriously as writers.
No, I’m afraid I’ll never get them Phil. And they’re not even like Rushdie or Steinbeck who I don’t really get on with, but whose value I appreciate. With Dickens I just don’t see it. I just don’t get why everyone else thinks he’s so wonderful (don’t get me wrong, I’ve listened to long lectures from teachers and fellow-travellers as to what I’m missing in these writers, but I still don’t see it even when it’s been pointed out. It’s dry, flat, one-dimensional, lifeless writing. Damn near all of it.)
During my brief teenage flirtation with Marxism (which coincided, somewhat paradoxically I admit, with my only forray into Irish nationalism) I became convinced that Shakespeare in particular, but much of pre-modern English literature in general, was nothing more or less than a tool of British colonialism. It existed to project a thoroughly corrupt image of humanity onto the world and simultaneously undermined and polluted the cultures of those to be colonised.
I don’t hold that view any more, but it’s an indication of how far back my struggle with pre-modern writing goes. I never got it. And I’ve spent the best part of 25 years trying.
Rochenko, thanks for the recommendation. I’ll add it to the “eventually” list.
August 8th, 2008 | 11:48am
by Jim Bliss
Oh, a quick question top anyone who might be reading. My favourite piece of Russian literature is a novel called “If”. It’s about 20 years since I’ve read it though and my memory of it is quite blurred. Thing is, I had it mentally filed away under: “Solzhenitsyn, Aleksandr I.”
Having read most of the recent obituaries though (RIP Alex) I don’t see it mentioned. And it’s not in his wikipedia bibliography (which doesn’t mean a whole lot, mind) either.
Needless to say, it’s not the easiest of book titles to google. Could someone confirm, therefore, that “If” was by Solzhenitsyn. Or if it wasn’t, then who was it?
August 8th, 2008 | 12:53pm
by Jim Bliss
I’ve never got on with Dickens either, but I struggle to think that ‘On The Road’ is great: it’s ‘I’m on speed aren’t I clever’ shtick wears pretty thin pretty quickly, although you can well see why it matters and is at least worth reading. If anything, I’m even more skeptical about ‘The Great Gatsby’, which I found so flat it was untrue; at least with ‘On The Road’ I could see the point, but ‘Gatsby’ was almost aggressively boring. And I gave up on ‘Against The Day’ – the only Pynchon I’ve tried – and think ‘Pattern Recognition’ is a) nothing like what Pynchon I’ve read: it’s actually about as far from that kind of baroque as could be imagined; and b) probably Gibson’s worst novel, which isn’t saying it’s bad, just nothing like as good as ‘Mona Lisa Overdrive’ or ‘Virtual Light’. Worse, I haven’t yet got to the point where I’m convinced that it’s not me but rather them with pre-20th century literature. I tend to think, with Phil, that the things which are really damning on the list are things like Bryson and Faulks, Mistry and Rowling: at their very best, like eating far too much cheap chocolate.
August 8th, 2008 | 1:10pm
by Rob
And another thing. This time about Great Arsing Expectations. Assuming I’m remembering it correctly (it was one of the novels I did for my O’Levels, so it’s not yesterday that I read it) there were two broad plot strands running through the book… there was the unrequited love of Pip for Estella (and Miss Havisham’s manipulation of that love) and there was the Magwitch-secret-benefactor strand. Right?
For me the interesting one, theoretically, of those two plot strands is the first one; the relationship between Pip and Estella. So in that sense, Great Expectations is — in part — a novel about unrequited passion and desire. Yet in the entire book, the word “sex” appears twice. Neither of them in a “sexual sense”…
to wreak revenge on all the male sex
and
do you remember the sex of the child?
You can argue (with merit) that Dickens was a prisoner of his time. He couldn’t write frankly about sex in Victorian England, so it’s hardly fair to criticise him for failing to do so. Mind you, it was only a few short decades until Leopold Bloom was masturbating whilst watching underage girls sunbathe and slipping into coprophiliac reveries whilst worrying about his inability to sexually satisfy his lover… and Dublin in the early 20th century was hardly less repressive than Victorian London.
All the same, it’s fair in my view to criticise Great Expectations for being anachronistic (archaic even) and utterly irrelevant to the modern world. It might be viewed as having historical interest, and no doubt students of 19th century British history will gain much through a familiarity with Dickens. But the limitations imposed upon it by the time in which it was written, the cultural censorship that applied to it, clearly had a detrimental effect on the book.
In my view.
August 8th, 2008 | 1:25pm
by Jim Bliss
If anything, I’m even more skeptical about ‘The Great Gatsby’, which I found so flat it was untrue
I can appreciate that, Rob. It’s not the kind of writing (clearly) that I’m usually a fan of. Whether it was because Gatsby caught me at a particular time when I was more receptive to it, or whether it’s some intangible property of the characters, I don’t know. But it is the only thing by Fitzgerald that I rate highly. Actually, a couple of his short-stories aren’t too bad either… The Diamond As Big As The Ritz and Bernice Bobs Her Hair are both worth reading in my view; the latter being a pretty clever commentary on the changing times and the approach of ‘modernity’.
As for the similarities between later Gibson and Pynchon… to me they’re actually quite self-evident. But that’d be an essay in itself. I will say though, that I started to see the similarities emerge in the ‘Bridge’ trilogy but they’ve only come to the fore in Pattern Recognition (and I’ve not read Spook Country yet, but I’m told it continues down that path).
It’s weird though. Actually, maybe I’m the weird one (maybe?!) Most of the novels I find ‘difficult’ are precisely those that most people breeze through. And I do find them genuinely difficult, despite being supposedly “light reading”. On the other hand, many of the books that others find dense, difficult or unreadable are precisely those that I find easiest. I don’t see the “heavy baroque writing” criticism of Pynchon, whose prose — for me — skips along at a brisk pace and is filled with wonderful whimsy as well as the multi-layered symbolism he’s renowned for. I do get the fact that I’m in a minority there, but that’s fine.
Similarly, aside from an abortive attempt when I was 13, I’ve always found Ulysses quite easy to read. But Pride and Prejudice, Bleak House, Wuthering Heights and the like, required an almost superhuman effort to get through. For all the more like swimming through treacle.
Wearing a suit of armour.
August 8th, 2008 | 1:42pm
by Jim Bliss
53 and 59 – yes.
98 – bollocks (as in “you’re talking” not “it is”).
August 8th, 2008 | 1:52pm
by Larry Teabag
Sorry Larry, but you’re very much on a loser trying to defend Shakespeare over here. I thought the film adaptation of Richard III, starring Gandalf, was half-decent. But I find Shakespeare’s plays offensively dull, dreadfully written and objectionable on almost every level. And I think his poetry sucks donkey cock.
August 8th, 2008 | 1:58pm
by Jim Bliss
Dissembling harlot, thou are false in all.
August 8th, 2008 | 2:33pm
by Larry Teabag
Excuse me.
Dissembling harlot, thou art false in all.
August 8th, 2008 | 2:35pm
by Larry Teabag
Now that’s writing!
(random paragraph from Vineland in case you’ve not read it).
August 8th, 2008 | 2:56pm
by Jim Bliss
There is no way that William Gibson would spend the better part of 50-odd pages writing a weird parody of Boys Own adventure stories at the beginning of a novel. That is baroque, and almost exactly the opposite of the sort of thing someone with Gibson’s quite restrained prose style would do; which is of course part of the joy of his books. I can see that there probably are certain thematic similarities between Pynchon and Gibson, but Pynchon has a quite different style to Gibson: to be cruel, which probably isn’t fair on the basis of struggling through the beginnings of one relatively late work, he seems to be a beat spin-off constantly trying to write the Great American Novel, whereas Gibson seems to have rather more pared down ambitions and a quite different set of references. Maybe ‘Against The Day’ isn’t the thing to start with.
August 8th, 2008 | 4:49pm
by Rob
I have more to say:
http://tamponteabag.blogspot.com/2008/08/blissful-bard.html
August 8th, 2008 | 5:53pm
by Larry Teabag
Them’s fighting words, Rob!
Thing is, I’d argue that Pynchon has written The Great American Novel.
Seven times.
True, I wouldn’t recommend starting with Against The Day (maybe try The Crying of Lot 49 which is the one I buy people who haven’t read his work?) Alternatively, it might just be that Pynchon isn’t the writer for you.
Which is fair enough. Though you have my deep and eternal pity because of it.*
I would agree with your contrasting of Pynchon and Gibson up until the later stuff. I honestly think his style (as well as some of the themes he covers) has become more Pynchonesque as time goes on. Having said that, I’m just flicking through Pattern Recognition right now and it does seem a great deal more ‘dialogue-heavy’ than Pynchon. So it could be that I was projecting / misremembering some of it. All the same, I still maintain that the descriptive prose… albeit relatively short passages of it between the extended dialogue… could be right out of a Pynchon novel.
In my view.
* That’s a joke by the way. I don’t ‘pity’ people who can’t connect with Pynchon.**
** It’s ‘scorn’. Not ‘pity’.***
*** That’s also a joke.
August 8th, 2008 | 6:00pm
by Jim Bliss
[By the way I was going to leave my blog-post as a comment here, but your comment-system didn’t like my links. Something to do with its rendering of quote marks, I think.]
August 8th, 2008 | 7:54pm
by Larry Teabag
No Mr Men books? For shame!
August 8th, 2008 | 8:41pm
by the ill man
Just done a test and there does seem to be something weird going on with the links in the comments, Larry. Cheers for the heads-up, but I’m not sure I can be arsed working out what’s wrong just now. Hmmm.
August 8th, 2008 | 9:15pm
by Jim Bliss
Jim – I fail to understand, well, any of this. I’ve read Shakespeare; I’ve also read quite a lot by most of his contemporaries (Jonson, Marlowe, Webster, Tourneur, Marston, Chapman and a couple of poets). Shakespeare’s demonstrably a better, richer, more powerful, more versatile writer than any of them. If Shakespeare’s mediocre, the whole of sixteenth century literature’s mediocre. It’s daft – you’re not seeing anything because you’re not looking.
Great Expectations is — in part — a novel about unrequited passion and desire. Yet in the entire book, the word “sex” appears twice.
Does that surprise you in some way? In the second or third chapter of Middlemarch, a woman speculates about whether a man she’s interested in had ever ‘made love’ – and she’s not even talking about sex! Times change, language changes, cultural forms change. People, in some important ways, don’t.
You can argue (with merit) that Dickens was a prisoner of his time.
No, I’m afraid that would be a stupid argument. Everyone‘s a prisoner of their time, you and me included. Cultures change, but they don’t change fast enough to render past cultural production worthless. A good thing, too – people haven’t been ‘modern’ in your terms for very long. I watched A kind of loving last night; that was made in 1962 (very much After Joyce) and the mentalities on display there seemed like something from another era. People won’t stay ‘modern’ for very long, either – give it 30 or 40 years and people will be sighing about how they can’t get into William Gibson, it’s just so late-twentieth-century…
It’s dry, flat, one-dimensional, lifeless writing.
Well, no, it isn’t. I love Pynchon too (especially Vineland), and no, nobody was writing sentences like that 100 years ago, with the possible exception of Henry James. And yes, books from before about the First World War do get harder to read as you go further back – I don’t think anyone would deny that. But it’s still good – the texture of Hardy’s writing, the exuberance of Dickens, the concision and wit of Austen, the characterisation of George Eliot… You’re missing out on a lot of good stuff, and (what really keeps me coming back to this) you’re encouraging other people to miss out.
August 9th, 2008 | 12:04am
by Phil
We won’t reach agreement here, Phil. But let me address a couple of points.
Last point first…
You’re missing out on a lot of good stuff, and (what really keeps me coming back to this) you’re encouraging other people to miss out.
As mentioned, I’ve read quite a bit of the stuff you say I’m missing out on. And I just don’t see what others see in it. I accept that they see something. But I don’t. You can say that means I’m missing out, but I really don’t think of it that way. Dickens, Austen and the rest just don’t speak in a voice that resonates with me. I’m no more “missing out” on Austen than I’m missing out on ballet (an artform that also fails to speak to me). If my life wasn’t filled with literature, music and art of all kinds that does speak to me (and it is) then you may have a point. But I’ll die without reading all the books I want to read, hearing all the music I want to hear and seeing all the films I want to see. Life’s too damn short for art that inspires nothing worthwhile in you.
I can recall reading Bleak House and actually getting angry at how bad I thought it was. Of course, that was when I was an undergrad and could get angry about just about anything.
As for encouraging others to “miss out”. Well, I just don’t see that. If a friend asked me whether or not they should read a Dickens novel I’d tell them not to waste their time, and suggest something else. If they then chose to act on that advice and “miss out” on Dickens, that’s entirely up to them and will be based largely on how much they value my opinion. Because that’s what they asked for… my opinion. Which is also what I provide on this blog.
The world and it’s dog already know that Shakespeare, Dickens, Austen, Hardy et al are considered “The Greats”. My opinion — however stridently expressed — will never alter that. Never even come close to providing a counterbalance. But if people want to listen to it, to accept my opinion above the orthodoxy, then I won’t lose any sleep about the fact that there’s one person out there reading The Crying Of Lot 49 rather than Oliver Twist.
And if anyone reading this blog imagines that this isn’t just “my opinion”, that I have some kind of hotline to The Truth About Literature, then they are — let’s face it — probably too bloody stupid to make sense of Great Expectations (Pynchon will be lost on them too, of course, but they might at least find some of the jokes funny… which probably won’t happen if they’re reading Dickens).
Next, to the notion that “everyone’s a prisoner of their times”. In fact, this may well be the root of our disagreement / misunderstanding.
In one sense you are obviously correct. In 30 or 40 years people may very well find Gibson’s stuff inaccessible or alien in some ways. Though I expect, as with Chandler for instance, that many will still manage to work their way into a world that vanished half a century ago.
But that’s not the point I’m making when I speak of Dickens being ‘caged’. What Joyce* did wasn’t to “escape his time” but to fundamentally change culture so that all of human experience was now available to be examined and questioned in art (and elsewhere). Nobody in Dickens ever takes a shit. Nobody has a wank, or even a sexual fantasy. Nobody fucks or sucks or puts a finger into a pussy or an asshole.
And this is important. Not because I want every novel to contain sex or swearing. Not because every character should fantasise about being shat on by a prostitute. Far from it. Leopold Bloom does that so Philip Marlowe doesn’t have to.
But when I read Dickens (et al) I know for a fact that these human experiences were available to the people of the time, but not to his characters. And because of that, they never ever become human to me. I don’t necessarily want to read Pip’s fantasy of fucking Estella from behind over a bench on Hampstead Heath. But the fact that I know, even before he is introduced to me, that he can never ever experience that fantasy, that it is literally off-limits to him, means that he can’t be a truly believable human. And when a writer fills their work with unbelievable characters — for whatever reason — they lose me almost immediately.
Of course we could experience a kind of neo-Victorianism (Neal Stephenson’s The Diamond Age explores that very possibility incidentally, and very good it is too), though I believe that to be highly unlikely in the short/medium term. This is one genie that will be very difficult to shove back into the bottle. And while all writers will be trapped by the age in which they live, it’s only in the last 100 years (or so) that they’ve been able to truly and honestly write about that age. About life. About being human.
So no, the lack of sex in Great Expectations or Middlemarch doesn’t surprise me at all. But it’s symptomatic of what I find problematic with them. You write:
Times change, language changes, cultural forms change. People, in some important ways, don’t.
Which seems to validate my point somewhat. People don’t change in certain fundamental ways. You’re right. But it’s only in the last century that writers have been capable of fully expressing that reality. The characters of pre-modern literature are substantially different from the characters in modern writing. Yet the people of those times weren’t.
Pre-modern literature has little to say to me, precisely because pre-modern literature can’t even speak about its own time without extreme compromise.
* Incidentally, I’m obviously aware that Joyce wasn’t the first person to ever do this. There were a couple of notable French blokes (de Sade and Comte de Lautreamont) who — in very different ways — explored some of the same areas. And there were others. But it was Ulysses that changed the world.
Anyways, what the hell am I doing trying to convey this point when one of the finest poets of our generation has already done it…
From Love, the third volume of poetry by Mahalia.
August 9th, 2008 | 1:06am
by Jim Bliss
[…] person of good character (pt 1) August 9th, 2008 | 1:45am by Jim Bliss The book-meme post got me thinking about literature (as it was bound to do) and about what makes good literature. […]
August 9th, 2008 | 1:46am
by The Quiet Road » Blog Archive » A person of good character (pt 1)
This is a passage taken at random from ‘Spook Country’. On the basis of what I’ve read, I cannot imagine Pynchon writing this: it’s too precise, sparse, has none of the baroque flourishes, either in character or in style.
“Tito, in his helmet and gloves, sat opposite her, wiping the keys of his Casio. A carton of cleaning supplies had been waiting for them in the hall, beside a new and expensive-looking vacuum cleaner Vianca said was German. Nothing came out of this vacuum but air, she said, so there would be no stray hairs or other traces left behind. Tito had helped his cousin Eusebio with exactly this procedure, though Eusebio had mainly had books, each of which had needed, according to protocol, to be flipped through for forgotten insertions, then wiped. The reasons for Eusebio’s departure had never been made clear to him. That too was protocol”.
The invocation of German-ness as the description of a piece of precision machinery is pure Gibson – and does place him in time and place – and about as far from Pynchon as you could get, I would have thought. So I really don’t think Gibson is anything like Pynchon, stylistically, even apart from the dialogue.
Trying to write the Great American Novel does not imply you’ve failed to do so; it implies that you’ve tried to make the sort of bold, broad statement about what it is to be live in the late(ish) twentieth century (in America: American novelists can be a bit parochial, and think that their problems are those of the world). DeLillo’s Underworld tries to be a Great American Novel, for example, and I think succeeds, but what observing that it tries points to the sort of subjects it covers: the setpiece at the baseball game it begins with takes in just about everything you could want it to about mid-fifties American society in a way that immediately marks it out as an attempt at a Great American Novel. So that’s what observing that Pynchon is attempting the Great American Novel is pointing out: it’s the canvass he’s interested in, and that’s a quite different canvass from Gibson’s.
I’m also with Phil both on the claim that you can write about people without using the word ‘fuck’ and on the claim that by insisting that you can only write about people by using the word ‘fuck’ you’re imposing your tastes on other people. There’s a difference between not liking something and denying that it’s comprehensible there’s anything to like about it, and there are things other to say about people apart from the fact that they fuck, piss and shit, and sometimes think about the interactions between the three.
August 9th, 2008 | 11:57am
by Rob
You’re definitely convincing me on the Pynchon / Gibson thing, Rob. Having spent a little while flicking through Pattern Recognition and re-reading my favourite bits, I’m willing to admit that there was some projection going on. All the same I’m sure I wasn’t just being mad when I finished it and thought “that was Pynchonesque”. I still feel there’s something undefineable there, linking later Gibson with Pynchon, but the similarities aren’t as pronouced as I remember them.
Y’know, it’s possible that it might be something to do with reading the last of the ‘Bridge’ trilogy right after Jim Dodge’s Stone Junction (which is indeed very Pynchonesque, and I’m certainly not imagining that one) and then reading Pattern Recognition just prior to Against The Day.
Who knows?
On the other point though…
I thought I was incredibly explicit that that wasn’t what I was saying. In fact I repeated the point within the space of a few lines specifically to ensure that was made clear…
Not because I want every novel to contain sex or swearing. Not because every character should fantasise about being shat on by a prostitute. Far from it.
and…
I don’t necessarily want to read Pip’s fantasy of fucking Estella from behind over a bench on Hampstead Heath.
My point is a far more subtle one. And it’s not something I’m imposing on anyone at all. Seriously, how “imposed upon” do you feel when you read the opinions of others? I know I certainly don’t. I can read a wide range of opinions without ever feeling that someone is imposing anything on me. And where the hell does that leave the 99.99% of people who write about literature from a position of orthodoxy? Type ‘Shakespeare’ or ‘Dickens’ into Google and I damn near guarantee that almost every page you click on that expresses an opinion about them, will be expressing a positive one.
To suggest that a fringe opinion like mine is being imposed upon anyone while at the same time every single school child in the English-speaking world is reading one of these books I’m criticising, is a little hyperbolic.
Which is fine. I’m a big fan of hyperbole. But let’s have some perspective here. Every single time I suggest that Shakespeare is a dreadful writer, there are a hundred thousand simultaneous voices insisting he’s the Greatest Writer In The World Ever! Every time I insist that pre-modern literature has little to offer a modern person, the entire population of Britain votes for Pride and Prejudice as the best book ever written.
If there’s any imposition going on regarding this subject, I’d suggest it’s not coming from my end of the spectrum of opinion.
But to return to that central criticism of mine, and the misinterpretation that I’m claiming every book has to have “fuck” in it. That honestly couldn’t be further from the truth. Even looking at the rather stale list provided by the BBC… of the ones I underlined as being much-loved books, the majority don’t have anything like that going on.
My point is not that I want to read the sexual fantasies of every character in every novel, or watch them take a shit. Give me a tad more credit. I’m saying that in the world of pre-modern fiction, it is literally impossible for any character to experience a sexual fantasy. Pip and Estella may as well be sexless mannequinns acting out an archaic social ritual. They aren’t human. A novel about unrequited passion in which the characters are unable to even think about sex is a novel about some alien species that I don’t recognise.
My favourite passages in Ulysses are not the masturbatory fantasies of Bloom (though the scene in which he admits to once experimenting with transvestism is utterly hilarious). The ‘absinthe’ conversation is probably my favourite scene in the entire book and the worst thing that gets said there (though I could be misremembering) is the threat to give someone “a kick in the knackers”. And while Molly’s stream of consciousness near the end is certainly littered with sexual references, they’re only a small part of what is — to me — the finest piece of writing in the English language. Anyone, incidentally, who hasn’t read Ulysses and doesn’t think they ever will, should at the very least read that section (the — entirely unpunctuated — last 50 or so pages). It’s achingly beautiful.
See, and I feel I need to repeat this once again, I don’t need to read the sexual fantasies of a character, or know what they do in the bedroom, unless it’s important to the plot. But I have to know that the character has sexual fantasies, and does something in the bedroom. Otherwise they’re not a character, they’re a prop. One-dimensional and lifeless.
August 9th, 2008 | 3:41pm
by Jim Bliss
Having not actually read it, I’m not in a position to say anything about ‘Great Expectations’. Your general is, though, that effectively, pre-Ulysses, it’s impossible, because of the various stylistic constraints, to write meaningfully about sex, because before that no-one had ever written about sexual fantasies, or something like that. Or at least that’s the way I read it. Further, you claim that if it’s impossible to write about sex, then it’s impossible to write about people. Let’s call these claims A for the first, and B for the second. A is demonstrably false: Shakespeare, apart from anything else, is notoriously pretty bawdy at points. B is similarly clearly not true: there are plenty of things to be said about people that aren’t about sex, and plenty of things even to be said about romantic love which aren’t about sex. And as far as the imposition stuff goes, because you’re claiming it is impossible, not just something you find unsatisfactory, that is an imposition: you’re saying anyone who disagrees with you is not just having a difference of opinion, but making a mistake. Unless teachers who are requiring students to read Dickens are saying that it’s impossible to (sensibly) think that he’s not great, they’re not doing the same sort of thing as you are. They may be doing other things, but that’s by the by.
August 9th, 2008 | 5:17pm
by Rob
It’s strange. Despite the hyperbole I employ in my blog posts, I’m genuinely one of the least confrontational people you could meet, and I desperately try (in the comments here) to reach a consensus. There’s a part of me; albeit an idealistic part; that believes intelligent people, arguing in good faith, can usually reach some position — whether it’s a compromise, or a change in terminology — that will allow them to, certainly not agree on everything, but at the very least see the world through one another’s eyes.
And yet I fail constantly. Perhaps my views really are incomprehensible or alien or wrong? Perhaps I’m not the half-decent communicator I’ve been heralded as in the past? Or perhaps everyone else is just being a pain in the arse? Or not listening… Fuck knows, but it can be a little frustrating (I mean in general, not specifically this discussion which I’m quite enjoying).
As is often my wont, last point first…
But I’m not saying it’s impossible. Sure I may have used language to that effect in the initial post, but as I stress time and again, my initial posts are as much about provoking discussion as anything else. I use hyperbole and confrontational language to set the stage for a lively discussion, not because I would literally rather eat my own flesh than read a Dan Brown novel.
In the subsequent discussion I’ve made the point several times (so much so that I felt I was labouring it somewhat) that clearly others see something in Dickens (or Shakespeare) that I don’t, and that I’m simply expressing my opinion.
On the other hand, I can quote you almost word-for-word the response I recieved when I wrote a highly critical essay of Great Expectations in which — albeit in adolescent stylee — I pointed out what I felt were valid criticisms of Dickens’ writing and characters. The short response in red ink after the ‘C’ grade (I found it amusing at the time that despite his extreme ire at my essay, the teacher, DC, was still unable to fail it) included the line: “You have not earned the right to criticise Dickens, and despite your clear literary pretensions you are unlikely to ever do so.”
The message came across loud and clear. Dickens is so ‘Great’ that finding fault in him as a writer is something that has to be “earned”. Seriously, if that’s not imposition, what is it?
And the fury I provoked, in those silly Marxist days, of insisting that Shakespeare held no interest for me and was no more than a tool of British colonialism… it bordered on the comical. You’d have thought I poisoned the teacher’s dog or something. The very idea that we empty vessels should question whether or not we wanted to be filled with the words of Our Lord William Shakespeare was damn near heretical.
And I don’t think my English teachers were atypical (though their views were obviously not universal either). Questioning The Greats is generally still frowned upon when you get to university (though at least you can do it there), but I’d argue that most of the damage is already done by then.
Now let me try, again, to find a way of expressing my problems with pre-modern characters in such a way as to allow you to at least them through my eyes for a moment, even if afterwards you declare I need stronger glasses…
Firstly let me make it very clear that I don’t consider the bawdiness of Shakespeare (et al) to be anything other than a validation of my point. A rude joke by Falstaff, like a rugby song or bawdy postcard, reveals an inability to talk about sex and sexuality.
And again, let me try to untangle a misconception.
No I don’t. Writing about people is not what I’m talking about at all. I’m talking — very specifically — about whether or not a literary character can be believably human if you remove a good portion of their bodily functions as well as their ability to even think about those functions. And then place them into a world where every other character is the same.
I cannot relate to that character. The awareness that characters in these books are barred, right from the outset, from a massive chunk of everyday human experience makes them largely uninteresting to me. They never become human in my mind. At best they are allegorical tools, fulfilling their function in a contrived morality-tale or piece of social commentary.
And even then, I’m being generous. How can you have social-commentary when you paint society as empty of real people? How can one make moral statements whilst denying the amoral biological drives that dictate a huge amount of human behaviour?
But look, even as I write this, I fear that I’m on a doomed journey. Maybe I just can’t articulate my feelings on this. Maybe you just can’t understand them. Whatever it is, let me first say that I don’t have a problem with anyone disagreeing or even dismissing my opinion. It’s just an opinion, and though I do think it’s the right one*, I’m not proposing repressive legislation to ensure you concur.
Which is why, on the other hand, I do find your suggestion that I’m imposing my views a little offputting. I don’t want to have to put a disclaimer on this site “warning: hyperbole and confrontational language may well be used to make a point, but I’ll discuss things in a civilised tone in the comments”. I’d like to think that people will work that out for themselves.
* “Right”, in the sense that it helps me to clearly define my own taste in literature and understand why it is that I can devour tens of thousands of pages of post-Joycean fiction without a problem, even the notoriously difficult stuff, but find myself battling through the supposed ‘classics’.
August 9th, 2008 | 6:12pm
by Jim Bliss
The relevant difference between what your teacher wrote and what I took you to be saying – which may not have been what you were or meant to say – is that they criticize out one view on what were presumably specific grounds. That’s not the judgment that it’s impossible to sensibly think something is bad: it’s the judgment that this particular attempt to argue it was bad doesn’t work. Of course you can disagree with specific judgments about something: what you can’t do is go round saying no judgment other than mine makes any kind of sense at all (or not at least without saying why specifically, for each one). It’s a kind of maxim of charity: you assume people have good reason for thinking whatever they do. And what I meant by writing about people was something similar to what you seem to mean by making a literary character believably human. But enough, I suspect.
August 9th, 2008 | 7:31pm
by Rob
I’d say your point is a valid criticism of Dickens (though I might disagree that it’s a fatal one). But I really do think it’s wrong when applied to Shakespeare, because his characters are sexual.
There’s all the difference in the world between “denying the amoral biological drives that dictate a huge amount of human behaviour” and limiting the language you use to reference it.
Here’s Hamlet, contemplating suicide while remembering his parents in love, and disgusted that his mother is now fucking his uncle: http://www.repeatafterus.com/print.php?i=9174
For something infinitely less subtle, try Titus Andronicus: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Titus_Andronicus#Synopsis
“Drag hence her husband to some secret hole,
And make his dead trunk pillow to our lust.”
If you’re granting de Sade an exemption, I insist Shakespeare gets one too.
August 9th, 2008 | 8:16pm
by Larry Teabag
Leopold Bloom does that so Philip Marlowe doesn’t have to.
The argument is getting clearer, but it’s also getting weird. I don’t think Chandler would have been able to publish sex scenes any more than Dickens could, and I’m not sure he would have wanted to any more than Dickens did. In any case, I’m not at all convinced that it’s not possible to write about sex without writing sex – that strikes me as a very 20th-century fetish. (You do know that one of Shakespeare’s plays is all about prostitution?)
I don’t want to have to put a disclaimer on this site “warning: hyperbole and confrontational language may well be used to make a point, but I’ll discuss things in a civilised tone in the comments”. I’d like to think that people will work that out for themselves.
The trouble is, the hyperbole doesn’t make a point – any point. Here’s me on Ian McEwan:
McEwan, for my money, is a lightweight, a fraud and a creep – a liar who has lied to himself”
He’s a lightweight: he’s not as good as he’s thought to be – he might be quite good, but he’s not all that. He’s a fraud: he makes himself out to be something he’s not, or rather his writing makes itself out to be something it’s not. He’s a creep: he (or his narrative persona) has preoccupations which are unresolved and unhealthy. He’s a liar who has lied to himself: he’s found a way of managing all of the above and writing technically successful novels, which makes those novels all the more untrustworthy. I’m engaging (critically) with McEwan – a writer I strongly dislike – and I’m qualifying it as my opinion.
Here’s you on Jane Austen:
It still mystifies me how anyone can read this pre-modern toss and not find it contrived, stultifyingly-dull bullshit.
It’s hyperbolic; it’s also dismissive, confrontational and above all unspecific. The message isn’t that Jane Austen is too X for you or not Y enough, but that there’s nothing there. Hence the strong reactions.
August 9th, 2008 | 9:53pm
by Phil
I had a long and considered response, Phil, but realised I was restating the same things in different words. I would suggest that perhaps we simply accept that our experience of fiction is significantly different? Though I’ve lost all confidence in my ability to reach any form of agreement on any topic at all, so maybe even that won’t be uncontroversial.
What I will say is that I (obviously) disagree with your rejection of hyperbole. This is a blog ferchristsakes. I throw opinion, rants, half-formed thoughts and all manner of flotsam that passes through my mind onto this site. It’s a big part of why I blog… to get all of that stuff out of my system and keep it segregated from the other stuff I write. I have never had — nor courted — a large audience for this place and would honestly and truly continue writing here if my hit-counter dropped to zero.
That said, I’m very glad about the fact that I do get a small handful of readers and can very occasionally spark a discussion and I love the fact that you all seem to be fair-minded and affable people.
But to criticise me for making an over-the-top attack on my pet hates here, is — I humbly suggest — a wee-bit unfair? I write of Tess of the D’Urbervilles: “Don’t need to read it. Hardy is shit. End of.” Isn’t it self-evident that what I’m doing is expressing an honest opinion, but in a humourous and deliberately over-the-top manner? I mean, even if you don’t find it funny, isn’t the attempt at humour obvious? Anyone?
Doesn’t the entire format of a blog meme invite precisely those kind of responses?
Now, of course when pressed, I’ll provide the reasons why I think Hardy (or pre-modern literature) fails to inspire anything other than negative emotions in me. But come on, don’t expect me to defend the statement “Hardy is shit. End of.” as though it was literally the extent of my views on his work. I dislike Hardy. I find the characters unconvincing for lots of reasons (I’m half-sorry I even mentioned the whole ‘sex’ thing as that’s only the most obvious of the many problems I have with pre-modern literature), I dislike the style… the voice.
I could — if I had the time — write an essay that nobody would read, explaining the many failings that I perceive in these writers. I would make a great deal of reference to the emotions they provoke in me. In other words, to my subjective individual experience of these books. As well as to the myriad other problems I perceive in them. And maybe I’d make some sort of sense, even to you, though you’d disagree with my conclusions.
That was a long way from my intention when I wrote this post. I wanted to say “I like these” / “I dislike these” in a way that might provoke an amused grin. That I failed so spectacularly suggests maybe I should steer clear of humour in the future…
… though that would have worrying consequences for my own fiction. Bugger.
August 10th, 2008 | 3:15am
by Jim Bliss
I wanted to say “I like these” / “I dislike these” in a way that might provoke an amused grin.
Obvious enough, and no complaints from me. All I’d add is that if you write over-the-top attacks on popular figures, then you should be prepared for comment threads telling you to blow it out of your Gary…
August 10th, 2008 | 1:30pm
by Larry Teabag
Don’t need to read it. Hardy is shit. End of. – that was funny, mainly because there’s obviously at least one finger pointing back at you. But when you say (for example) Pre-Joycean Russian literature doesn’t seem to suffer from the same lifelessness as almost all of the English-language stuff (obviously there are exceptions to that, by the way), that sounds less like a Charlie Brooker-esque rant & more like someone arguing that most of what was written in the English language before Joyce is lifeless. So I don’t apologise for trying to get you to explain what you were on about, although I admit that that discussion’s probably gone about as far as it can go.
And maybe I’d make some sort of sense, even to you, though you’d disagree with my conclusions.
I’m not sure that I would disagree with your conclusions if you thought about Hardy (or whoever) in more detail – because if you took the time over it I don’t think your conclusion would end up being “Hardy is shit”. You might come up with “Hardy is dishonest”, “Hardy overwrites”, “Hardy can’t write a believable minor character to save his life” or for that matter “Hardy can’t write a believable major character to save his life” – but at that level I might be forced to agree with you, which could leave me struggling to justify my belief that he’s a great writer.
I’m not for a moment suggesting you do devote this kind of effort to a writer you don’t even like. The irony is, as Larry says, that what you actually wrote has much less chance of making any kind of dent on these writers’ standing. Hamlet‘s “dumb nonsense”? No, it’s not. End of.
August 10th, 2008 | 6:59pm
by Phil
I wanted to say “I like these” / “I dislike these” in a way that might provoke an amused grin
One final thought (I promise). Meanwhile, in a neighbouring universe…
Another meme (I’ll get back to proper blogging soon, honest). Mind-altering substances this time, and a tie-in of sorts with the BBC’s Big Smoke. Viral boilerplate follows:
The Big Smoke reckons that the average adult has only used 6 of the top 100 mind-altering subtances they’ve printed.
1) Look at the list and bold those you have used.
2) Italicize those you intend to use.
3) Underline the substances you love.
4) Strike out the substances you have no intention of ever using, or were persuaded to use and hated.
5) Reprint this list in your own blog
1. Cannabis
Looks like I’m going to be ‘controversial’ right from the off. I simply fail to understand why anyone in their right mind would use cannabis. Perhaps it’s because anyone who does use it won’t be in their right mind for very long. Seriously, widespread neural damage is the only explanation I can think of for this vile and pointless substance scoring so high. Next!
2. MDMA
Jesus wept (which shows that *his* serotonin levels weren’t permanently depleted). Doesn’t the name Leah Betts mean anything?
3. LSD
A one-way ticket to the psychiatric ward – I know, I’ve seen it happen. Kids, just say no. Seriously.
4. Caffeine
Sanity returns. Wakes you up, keeps you alert, cures headaches and keeps your heart galloping along – this is the stuff for what ails you. As I’ve always said, there’s nothing wrong with an espresso, except that it’s not a double espresso…
I think the point is that the OTT style works for people who agree with what you’re saying, or at least have sneaking sympathies with it. Otherwise it just looks wrong and OTT.
August 11th, 2008 | 11:17am
by Phil
Hmmm… I take your point, Phil. But up to a point.
I honestly think there’s a significant difference when the views you express are highly unorthodox. It brings a mild aspect of iconoclasm with it. On the other hand, the example you chose is nearer mainstream opinion than I suspect either of us would like it to be. As such, it sounds more like a Daily Mail article than anything else.
So to get the humour value from your example, you have to be even more extreme. I found the Daily Mash’s Cannabis Now Worse Than The Nazis hilarious for instance (though it goes without saying they do humour better than me. Leastways in this instance).
On the other hand, you have to be “less hyperbolic in your hyperbole” to carry out the same job when the view you are ostensibly expressing is already far from the mainstream. “Hardy is shit” suffices when the world thinks Hardy is wonderful. On the other hand, in a world that already thought Thomas Hardy was a bit crap, you’d have to go down the: “Hardy’s crimes against humanity place him up there with Pol Pot, Stalin and Hitler” route.
August 11th, 2008 | 12:08pm
by Jim Bliss
I see what you mean. The mainstream is a funny thing, though. I came out of college with a genuine love of George Eliot, Henry James and Emily Dickinson, & it didn’t make me feel remotely mainstream – I felt like a freak, & not a particularly elite freak either. I was at Cambridge, and even there there was a big contingent who were didn’t do the work (or said they didn’t) and didn’t take the books seriously (or affected not to). I remember one time when the Saturday Guardian ran a feature on the premise of “admitting you haven’t read Middlemarch” (cue amusing intro about how the writer’s never read it and neither have any of his friends, then phone round the literati & ask them what famous books they’ve never read, 1500 words, job done). Not actually reading anything written before about 1960, to my mind, is mainstream – it’s just that you can choose between the Guardian area of the mainstream (“don’t actually read the books but vaguely think you did once, do read Ian McEwan”), the Daily Mail area (“don’t actually read the books but think the films are lovely”) and the BBC3 area (“don’t read the books or see the films, they’re all useless and irrelevant”).
Not that you’re in that area, but still – I don’t think it is all that iconoclastic to say that Shakespeare’s not as good as Philip K. Dick (it would work as a feature on the Culture Show, put it that way). It would almost be more iconoclastic to call Dick soulless, contrived nonsense.
August 11th, 2008 | 12:57pm
by Phil
You may well be right there, Phil.
I parted ways with the mainstream so long ago that my memory of it may be a bit hazy.
That’s a bit overblown actually, but the line popped into my head and I had to write it down. It’ll be perfect for the central character in my novel (John Rice… he’s me, but better looking, a lot more dynamic and a good deal less self-aware).
I think the great anarchist intellectual, Hakim Bey, may actually be closer to the truth, when he opens section 5 of Immediatism…
There’s certainly — in my view — still a political and an economic mainstream. But the arts have fragmented into a multitude of niches. Perhaps.
I guess “the establishment” might be a better phrase than “mainstream”. Or better still; “my perception of the establishment”.
On the other hand, in the world of English literature, this kind of poll of the public will surely end up generating a hybrid list containing a selection of popular favourites (the Rowling books, etc.) alongside those books perceived by the public as being the classics they ought to have read (the Complete Works of Shakespeare, the Bible, etc.).
Perhaps this is as close to ‘the mainstream’ that it’s possible to get anymore?
Just idle thoughts… not disagreeing, just speculating.
August 11th, 2008 | 1:37pm
by Jim Bliss
Jim,my bpy. I suspect that you like Ulysses because of some geek mindset which likes difficulty for difficulties sake. Otherwise you like crap literature. Middlebrow horsehit, or worse. Some of it mentions sex. Woopee.
The fact that you rate Tolkien, and not Dickens ( who is second best to Shakespeare) is beyond me, as are thr turgid prose you employed above. Here, on the other hand is Dickens on Scrooge:
Which gets that character perfectly. And if you dont get that you cant actually read. Sure the words come in, but that is not reading. Maybe, for you, you needed Dickens to have finger someone’s arsehole. To, like, make it real dude. As for Austen, I would have no interest in her world were it not so well written. Clearly though it is. And thats the key.
( and most American writing is shite. They have nothing in the 19th century – hence the preoccupation with Tom Sawyer – since then what. I like Roth, and Mailer. That is it. There is no there, there)
August 29th, 2008 | 11:58pm
by Eoin
Eoin, you know how you suspect that Jim likes Ulysses ‘because of some geek mindset which likes difficulty for difficulties sake’?
Whilst I’m sure some people do like difficult reading, Jim’s already made clear he’s not one of them. He merely finds different things difficult to most readers.
The bit where he said Most of the novels I find ‘difficult’ are precisely those that most people breeze through. And I do find them genuinely difficult, despite being supposedly “light reading”. – what do you think he’s saying there?
You know your cheap comments about ‘you needed Dickens to have finger someone’s arsehole’ and ‘Some of it mentions sex. Woopee.’?
Whilst I’m sure some people do require sexual content in everything they read, Jim’s already made clear he’s not one of them.
The bit where he said this is important. Not because I want every novel to contain sex or swearing…
But when I read Dickens (et al) I know for a fact that these human experiences were available to the people of the time, but not to his characters. And because of that, they never ever become human to me. I don’t necessarily want to read Pip’s fantasy of fucking Estella from behind over a bench on Hampstead Heath. But the fact that I know, even before he is introduced to me, that he can never ever experience that fantasy, that it is literally off-limits to him, means that he can’t be a truly believable human. And when a writer fills their work with unbelievable characters — for whatever reason — they lose me almost immediately. What do you think he’s saying there?
If you have a criticism of someone’s point, seeing if they’ve already dealt with that criticism is wise if you want to have any meaningful discussion and/or avoid looking foolish.
September 3rd, 2008 | 7:12pm
by merrick
Hi Jim. I thoroughly recommend the Handmaid’s tale, by Margaret Attwood. I have it as an audiobook, and can put it up on rapidshare if you’re interested.
Before I read/listened to it, I kind of assumed it was some kind of twee medieval nonsense. I couldn’t have been further from the truth. It takes US Christianity to its logical conclusion, in a world where nuclear war has made life outside the US’ borders impossible.
September 7th, 2008 | 4:40am
by PMM