Q1. What is the best classic you were “forced” to read in school (and why)?
Hmm . . . [scanning bookshelf]. This kind of question is precisely what makes canon discussions so darn difficult, no? Okay, so . . .
Today, at this moment, I’m thinking my choice must be Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man (though some may foolishly contest its canonical status). Here’s why:
Though separated by both time and war, Ellison’s novel seems to me the logical conclusion of two truly remarkable American moments, the Jazz Age and the Harlem Renaissance, in style, tone, and subject: for me, it’s like the literary grandchild of Dorothy Parker and Langston Hughes. Still almost painfully relevant, Invisible Man is uniquely, cogently, an American novel, one that speaks across multiple cultural moments---its narrator’s, its author’s, and this, our contemporary moment. Consider Ellison’s lines: “Step outside the narrow borders of what men call reality and you step into chaos [. . .] or imagination” (576) and “Life is to be lived, not controlled; and humanity is won by continuing to play in the face of certain defeat” (577). The book is worth reading for these passages alone.
In fact, it has been a decade since I last read it; I do believe it is time to have another look.
Q2: What was the worst classic you were forced to endure (and why)?
Vanity Fair. Vanity Fair. Oh, Dear God, Vanity Fair. Never has any author even come close to rivaling Thackeray’s contemptible, damnable characters. I hated them all. I hate him for writing them into existence. I realize that it is intentionally a “Novel without a Hero.” I don’t care. Vanitas Vanitatum be damned. I hate this novel. If I have to say much more, I will just start swearing uncontrollably.
Q3: Which classic should every student be required to read (and why)?
Though not fiction (and for some reason I just assumed we were talking fiction here), I’m going to jump genre and recommend that every student should be required to read and thoughtfully consider Aristotle’s On Rhetoric and Poetics (and since there is a quality compilation edition available, I’m counting these treatises as one). There is so much of value for anyone interested in language, discourse, civic participation, et al.
(and . . . can you require someone to ‘thoughtfully consider’ a work? Neat.)
If I must decide on a distinctly literary piece, however, then I’ll go with poetry here and select Dante’s The Inferno (the rest of the Divine Comedy should be recommended, but not required, reading).
Q4: Which classic should be put to rest immediately (and why)?
This is a tough one because even though there are a few classics I despise (Canterbury Tales, Vanity Fair, Tess of the D’Urbervilles, The House of Mirth, The Old Man and the Sea), I suppose I can see their literary value and purpose. But to put to rest a classic . . .
Well . . . it’s a major stretch, but I’ll go with the entire Star Trek corpus (including the franchise). Maybe only a cult classic, the novels were inspired by a bad ‘60s television show!? C’mon now. So I’ll go with a loose interpretation of ‘classic’ and ax Star Trek, effective immediately.
I’m also a little over the Kerouac hype, but I don’t know if I’d put On the Road to rest, per se---especially since I kinda dig it.
Q5: **Bonus** Why do you think certain books become classics?
Here I’ll adopt Kerr’s definition of curriculum and apply it to the classics: “nothing less than the statement a college [perhaps in this case, a culture] makes about what, out of the totality of man’s [sic] constantly growing knowledge and experience, is considered useful, appropriate, or relevant to the lives of educated men and women at a certain point of time.”
That, coupled with longevity--or perhaps the honoring of or curiousity about what has been “useful, appropriate, or relevant” to previous generations ---is, to my mind, what makes a classic.
I would also argue that craft has something to do with it, though that may be a troubled and tenuous argument.
And now, to plagiarize Bradley, if you are reading this, consider yourself tagged.
4 comments:
For q4, of the titles you placed in parenthesis, I enjoyed all of them that I read (I haven't read Old Man). I think Chaucer is hilarious, although there are a few tales that I am less fond of in that sequence. I treated VF as fluffy entertainment/soap opera going into it, so that probably helped my reading. I don't know why I like Tess - I just remember getting into it. It wasn't fun, but I was attracted to it. Same with Mirth. I shall take up the questions soon!
Funny, but all of the titles I mentioned despising in the parenthetical aside I despise for purely idiosyncratic reasons, not for reasons of form.
I can't help but associate Chaucer with a particular professor with whom I had, um, shall we call it a 'personality conflict?' Her imprint is left, perhaps unfairly, on the text.
Hardy's Tess was just emotionally painful for me. Beautifully wrought, I was completely invested, which made it just torturous for me.
I simply have a bad visceral response to Hemingway. Don't care for him.
As for Wharton's Mirth, I fell in love only to feel completely betrayed. I understand why the book had to be written the way it was, why it had to conclude the way it did, but it was a hard, harsh reckoning for me when I closed the back cover.
And finally, VF . . . I'll do my best Donald Duck impression and offer this:
f%^#@^% s%$^#$@ *&^##@!!!!
Can't wait to read your responses! Cheers!
Yeah, the Hardy is painful but I think that is probably one of the reasons I liked it. I was angry at the end of Mirth, too. So angry that I threw the book across the room and scared my undergrad roommate. I was mad for quite some time, but when I reread it later I felt better about it.
What little I have read by Hemingway hasn't made me want to read more. If I come across a short story in an anthology, I might read it, but a novel is a much larger time investment.
I've yet to figure out Kerouac's appeal. I read On the Road and followed it with Dr. Sax and later the Dharma Bums, trying to figure out why Kerouac appealed to so many of my friends in grad school. The prose just seems like rambling, methamphetamine chatter.
As far as Hemingway goes: I think he's a writer people either love or hate, and find little middle ground. I tend or tended toward love, though that love is somewhat sentimental now. Reading Hemingway in my twenties led me to become interested in literary fiction and writing. As I've grown as a writer and reader over the years, I see Hemingway's flaws, especially in his uber-self-absorbed nonfiction, as much as I see the power of his prose. Still, despite the flaws, I'm still in awe of his stories, and early novels like The Sun Also Rises. And there are passages like the opening scenes of A Farewell to Arms that are wonderful examples of descriptive prose, and worth reading as a study in the craft of writing.
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