Showing posts with label Literature. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Literature. Show all posts

Monday, April 5, 2021

Nathaniel Hawthorne as Literary Legend

 

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

Everyone loves a good story. Lovers of literary history often encounter writers who engage ten-dollar words to give their works an air of pomposity and those writers who inject every sentence with often redundant phrases designed to demonstrate their piety, lofty social position, superior intellect, and/or nationalistic fervor. Add to those difficulties in reading long, tedious paragraphs that ramble on for pages. Can we wonder that the average American shows little interest in literature or history?

Nathaniel Hawthorne broke the grip of self-indulgence in literature. The writer following Hawthorne was now free to hide from the reader, and the reader was free to enjoy reading without lecture or condescension by the writer. Hawthorne’s stories entertained without frivolity, enlightened without thunderous imperative, and instructed without tedious detail. Even his moral tales used complex allegory rather than a sermon to drive them. His style was so revolutionary that his works went through rejection by public resistance to change and harsh criticism by literary wags, followed by gradual acceptance through word-of-mouth advertising, on to celebrity cult status, and finally into the celestial sphere of literary immortality.

The common reader in his workaday world had little time for moral instruction or dry narrative. The Industrial Revolution had begun. Social, political, and economic changes accelerated daily, and the pastoral and historical Classical Romanticism of Europe had no place in a country with no ancient past to glorify through the romance novel, and the new spirit of opportunity was clouded by economic inequality, drudgery, and a breakdown in traditional values. Optimistic novels and short stories filled with sunny characters made for easy escapism, but they did not reflect the reality of the “man on the street.”

Nathaniel Hawthorne and Edgar Allen Poe introduced “Dark Romanticism” in reaction to the Transcendentalist thesis that man is inherently good and need only to follow moral teachings to lead a rich and fulfilling life. Not so, said the Dark Romanticist; man is born of sin and gives himself to evil through his nature. His readers knew of evil—they saw it in the factory, slaughterhouse, and mine bosses. The public found works that delved into their characters’ psychological motives and inner lives, traits that the reader shared. No longer need heroes be heroic: “The greatest obstacle to being heroic is the doubt whether one may not be going to prove one’s self a fool; the truest heroism is to resist the doubt; and the profoundest wisdom, to know when it ought to be resisted, and when it be obeyed.” (The Blithedale Romance, Ch. 2.)

As students of literature move farther away from a language they see in classical literature as stifling and anachronistic, they will yet fix on Hawthorne and see in him a writer who can speak to them from the past and continue to speak to their technology-shortened attention span. For the contemporary common man, history and literature sprang to life with Hawthorne, following a long period of literature unreadable in the present time with its twenty-first-century language, a language as undecipherable to the seventeenth-century writer as theirs is to us.

Readers today too often see a gap of several millennia between the exciting stories of Homer’s Achilles and Ulysses and the renewal of readable literature from Hawthorne and Poe, and down to us through Stephen Crane, Virginia Woolf, F. Scott Fitzgerald, William Faulkner, and Ernest Hemingway. Lovers of the straight-forward tale, unembellished with linguistic fog and self-indulgence, owe a nod to Nathaniel Hawthorne for stripping the story to its essentials, and for revealing to the reader his own dark nature.

 

Sources:

C.D. Merriman for Jalic Inc. Copyright Jalic Inc 2007.
http://www.online-literature.com/hawthorne/
Accessed 07/05/2011.
 
The Tales and Novels of Nathaniel Hawthorne, the Modern Library, Random House, Inc; 1937.
“Introduction, p. viii.”
 
“Nathaniel Hawthorne,” Petri Liukkonen (author) & Ari Pesonen. Kuusankosken kaupunginkirjasto, 2008
http://www.kirjasto.sci.fi/hawthorn.htm
Accessed 07/05/2011.

 

Monday, March 22, 2021

Snarl

 

Photo by Yosef Ariel on Unsplash

During times of economic hardship, the word “Utopian” emerges, usually spat out as a curse. The idea of a harmonious social and political order has devolved into a contemptible pipedream of radicals and revolutionaries. When I recently suggested that the enormous taxpayer funds spent to reinvigorate the economy might be better used helping the now insolvent common man—the taxpayer—with his upside-down mortgages and in retraining him for new and emerging technologies a listener responded with a snarl, “That’s utopian!” His loathing for my proposal was evident: his posture threatened combat, his face contorted in loathing. “Utopian” was evidently, to him, not a pleasant concept. How did a word suggesting a place of political, social, and economic perfection come to such low regard?

Sir Thomas More invented the word, loosely translated from Greek as “No place,” for his imaginary city in his book Utopia in 1516. Five hundred years later the rugged individualist American acquires his disdain for all things Utopian from the welfare state described by More and Utopian dreamers before and since him. We are more comfortable with the heroic stature of an Ayn Rand protagonist than with the idea of the citizen as a minor function in a vast socio-economic machine. A lone person struggling against great odds to amass wealth and fame is a worthy hero to a culture coming of age in an environment of war and celebrity. In that mindset, a contented drone is nevertheless a drone. Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World (1932), describing a dysfunctional utopian future, continues to sell while his Island (1962), chronicling a near-perfect society on a remote south-seas island, remains an out-of-print book discussed only among bibliophiles and daydreamers.

Plato’s Republic, written 2,000 years before More’s work, did nothing to promote perfect social order as an attainable goal. His perfect world, ruled by a philosopher-king who was a model for Ayn Rand’s heroic industrial magnate, fares better among readers in the western world, though his handling of women as state property and the use of slaves leaves many readers squirming with unease. His was a Spartan world where a socialist economy prevailed, children were wards of the state, and art censored. The Republic served as Plato’s personal fantasy. It benefits the philosopher-king but is no Utopia to women and slaves.

Saint Augustine, too, promoted a Utopian vision. His Heavenly City on earth led to the founding of religious settlements seeking a perfect society of like-minded pilgrims, but those harmonious colonies soon disbanded, or deteriorated into villages and towns as messy and disordered as the ones we live in today or ended in disaster like the Jonestown Massacre. A common vision and shared belief, it seems, are not enough to maintain perfection.

Ursula K. Le Guin has experimented with the utopian ideal more than any other writer. In 1971, she published a short story describing a perfect society in “Those Who Walk Away From Omalon.” She sets up the reader with a pleasant world of carefree living, and then reveals the terrible price paid for the perfect society. Those who walked away from Omalon preferred the imperfect world of strife and insecurity over an easy life lived in guilt.

Huxley’s Island, James Hilton’s Shangri-La (from Lost Horizon, 1933), and Francis Bacon’s 1626 New Atlantis represent earthly paradises distant and isolated in time and place, and therefore of minor interest to modern utopists. However, to the casual reader they are pleasant fantasies, an escape from the monotonous grind of daily life in a dystopian reality. The desert island-hidden valley utopia rarely dwells on social-economic-political details, and that brand of utopian literature reads more like escapist fantasy than serious political discussion.

The collapse of the world economic system, ongoing culture wars, and the growing evidence of greed as the fuel that drove the good times have brought utopianism back into the political discussion as we seek a means to bring about “a more perfect union”-- a more stable economic environment. The depression of the 1930s brought socialism into the debate. Earlier economic crises, called “Panics” in their day, introduced such proletarian institutions as the labor union, the end of child labor, and migrations from agricultural to industrial centers. Each advance of socialist values has met resistance, often violent resistance, by mainstream society. The recent rise of utopian discussion fares no better.

Business and government leaders call for patience. They repeat with metronomic frequency the mantra that, when the bank vaults are full and failing industries revived, the benefits will trickle down to the rest of us. To which a growing number of Americans snarl, “That’s utopian!”

 

Suggested Reading

The Republic, Plato, 3rd century BC

The Confessions of Saint Augustine, c. 400 AD

Utopia, Sir Thomas More, 1516

New Atlantis, Francis Bacon, 1626

News From Nowhere, William Morris, 1890

Island, Aldous Huxley, 1932

Lost Horizon, James Hilton, 1933

Brave New World, Aldous Huxley, 1963

The Dispossessed; An Ambiguous Utopia, Ursula K. Le Guin, 1974

The Handmaid’s Tale, Margaret Atwood, 1985, 1986

 

Thursday, December 31, 2020

Tom Robbins and Philip K. Dick Fistfight in an Alternate Reality


 Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash



Tom Robbins and Philip K. Dick Fistfight in an Alternate Reality

“. . .spinning a web of words, pale walls of dreams, between myself and all I see.” --John Gardner, Grendel

 

“What do you want to do with your life?” he asked.

A hidden question lay concealed in the curiosity: Why are you taking my course in creative writing? Are you dedicated to the art of literature, or are you taking my course because you think that someday, maybe you would like to write--if you get around to it?

“I want to write like Sherman Alexie,” I said.

Judging by the faint smile my comment drew from him, I saw I had satisfied him. So, I laid it on thick. “and tell a story like Stendhal,”

This time I registered a faint frown. He took my remark as an attempt to bullshit him, and I regretted my feeble attempt to impress.

I was speaking with honesty, though; I did want to write and tell stories like the masters. I had been writing in journals for years but got stuck in that Dear-Diary-type of writing that is the mark of the amateur. I wanted more. I wanted Tim O'Brien and Virginia Woolf to pour out of my pen. Tom Robbins and Philip K. Dick inspired me. Why couldn't I write with their kind of easy voice and distinctive style? I needed some education. That need took me to the Richland College in Dallas, Texas, a two-year college situated on a casual and intimate campus in the northeast quadrant of the city.

The Richland courses made me a better writer, but the voices of doubt crept in again and I gave up writing for years but continued to think like a writer--or more on target, like a writer-not-writing. Then, a friend introduced me to some motivational videos on YouTube. There I learned the difference between in-field and out-field thinking *. My hypergraphia transformed from to-do lists and Facebook arguments to writing for publication and the reactivation of a long-dormant blog.

A Facebook bet from a guy steeped in woo and superstitious nonsense bet me—as a challenge to my philosophical materialism—that I couldn’t spend the night in an abandoned prison, a wager leading to the “My Time in Prison” (MTiP) project. Over time, my challenger and I drifted apart, and the project got put on hold while I researched abandoned prisons in Texas and dealt with the busy-ness of the holidays. In a couple of days, the holiday season will fade into history and we will enter a new year; one in which I hope for fewer deaths by pandemic disease, and an end to rapacious capitalism, political incompetence, and ideological drama.

The MTiP project is holding for warmer weather, a suitable prison within driving distance from Dallas, and a project cost estimate. So, for now, I’ll concentrate on reviving this blog that I had all but abandoned. I’m kinda hidden over here in a far corner of the internet, but that’s okay. I’m not looking for fame. I’m looking for an outlet for a severe case of hypergraphia. I was looking for a theme and my betting buddy gave me one: he revived a life-long interest in unreality—deception, propaganda, superstition, religion, woo, Russian bots, fake news, paranormal fantasies, and conspiracy theories; an interest that will take me into some up close and personal knowledge of haunted places and religious “beyond space-time” fog.

It’s going to be fun.

 

* https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/moments-matter/201708/locus-control

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