Footnotes, Don't Fail Me Now

Rosemarie: There’s one problem with writing about the classics. What are we supposed to say that hasn’t been said?

Me: That’s the beauty part. We’re not writing about the classics. We’re writing about our reaction to them.

Rosemarie: (beat) If you say so.

Pity the man who can’t heed his own advice.

I take on a few well-regarded novels and come over all knock-kneed, as if I were still in Mrs. Bytheway’s class. (A fine English teacher, as you’d expect from someone whose last name is a prepositional phrase. I wonder if the kids today call her Mrs. BTW?)

My posts to date have been equal parts diligent book report and review that’s several decades late. This is supposed to be about me, dammit. Herewith, a few thoughts that I should have included during the first go-round.

On The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn: What I love about this book is that it conveys the ideal of the American character. A clear-eyed skepticism as well as a faith in one’s fellow man. A respect for the profound feelings provoked by religion coupled with suspicion for those who traffic in those feelings. It looks askance at those in power while acknowledging that somebody has to hold the reins. Huckleberry Finn is a living, vibrant book in part because anyone who recommends it – parent, teacher, politician – will be roundly mocked within its pages.

On Ernest Hemingway: No one is saying that the man needed more jokes. But what I come away with after reading two of his books is a sense of the burden of masculinity. When you’re a man, there’s no room for levity. I was reminded of those actors who are vaguely embarrassed by their trade and indulge in macho theatrics even when they’re out of the spotlight. There’s a rigidity to Hemingway’s sensibility that implies he’d sooner break than bend.

Or maybe the flawed sensibility is my own. Perhaps I can only deal with ideas in quotes. So much of the crime fiction I’ve read explores the codes of masculinity even as it occasionally satirizes them – I’m looking at you, Robert B. Parker – or, if presenting a stoic, at least delves into what motivates that behavior. Hemingway doesn’t bother with such inquiries. In his austere world, a man’s got to do what a man’s got to do. He calls a spade a spade, usually more than once, and gets on with it. It’s a bit tough for me to warm to that style.

Ah. That’s a load off my chest. I’ll try to make future posts more like this one – and Rosemarie’s – and less like homework.