When I was a
kid, no one ever said such things to me, certainly not parents or teachers. “Imaginative
culture,” in so many words, wasn’t an option. I wouldn’t have known what that
meant. I liked to read, found it pleasurable and I never drew the conclusion
that I was somehow bolstering the future of civilization.
“[Literature’s]
general characteristic is that it is the product of a poetic, an imaginative,
or even merely a quaintly observant mind.”
Again, “imaginative,”
though I have a soft spot for “quaintly observant.” It brings to mind Gilbert
White’s account of Selbourne’s natural world, or The Peregrine by J.A.
Baker. It connotes the amateur spirit, work undertaken for the love of it.
“The
immediate test for one’s self as to what is literature and what is not
literature—biblia a-biblia as the Greeks used to call this last—is simply
whether one does or doesn’t find a book readable. But if a book has found
readers in great numbers for two thousand or five hundred or merely eighty or
ninety years, you would be rash, even though you could not read it yourself, to
declare that it was not literature—not, that is to say, a work of art.”
In the last
week, in private emails, I have been asked by readers if they ought to read Joseph
Conrad, Homer, Nadezhda Mandelstam and Anthony Powell, and if so, where to
start. There is still a hunger out there for the consolation of books and what
used to be known as “self-improvement.” I also read a Tweet by a woman
demanding that we scour our bookshelves of “privilege.” Mostly that seemed to
mean books written by white people. That would certainly narrow one’s options.
As they say, everyone’s a [book] critic, even the illiterate.
“You may
dislike Homer as much as this writer actually dislikes, say, Milton. But
neither of us would be wise if we declared that either the Iliad or Paradise
Lost were not literature. We should be unwise because it is foolish to set
one’s private judgment up against the settled opinions of humanity for
generation on generation, and because our tastes may change before the end of
our lives.”
The writer
of the Tweet mentioned above reminded me, of course, of the Säuberung (“cleansing”)
declared by the Nazis in 1933, and the resulting burning of “un-German” books,
but also the destruction of the Buddhas of Bamyan by the Taliban and of Palmyra
by ISIL.
[The quoted
passages are from Pages 10 and 11 of The March of Literature (1939) by
Ford Madox Ford, the Dalkey Archive edition.]
2 comments:
One of the best - if the best - things about reading is that it enables you to be an absolute sovereign. My library is a kingdom in which my word is law. Don't like Anthony Trollope? That's fine - in YOUR kingdom. Offended by Evelyn Waugh? Feel free to expel him from YOUR realm. Feel a need for writers to be "proportionally represented?" Pass a law for YOUR empire. I won't squawk.
But cross the border and try to dictate to me in MY kingdom - off with your head!
What these activists want is literature that looks like the UN and thinks like the UC-Berkeley identity studies departments.
Post a Comment