“No doubt you are going to take a holiday, long or short, this summer, and no doubt you will want to pack a few books in your gripsack to read on rainy afternoons or dull evenings.”
Well, yes – and no. I hope
to fly to Cleveland for my fifty-first high-school reunion in September,
postponed from last year by the lockdown. I no longer travel often but I always
pack books, though I’ve never sought “Summer Novels,” as H.L. Mencken titles
his column in the June 10, 1910, issue of the Baltimore Evening Sun. I
don’t find them much different from Winter Novels. Mencken is writing decades before
the artificial genre of reading matter, Beach Books, was first marketed. My
reading, to crib a term from physics, is a “steady state,” following no preordained
path, subject only to whim and availability. Mencken advises the choice of
novels over histories, and new over old – precisely the opposite of what I
would suggest:
“The old ones you know all
about: it is the new ones that puzzle. The advertisements are not to be believed,
the fair young merchants at the book counters are not to be trusted. And you
can never judge by the covers for the gaudiest and most seductive bindings are
often upon the most stupid and melancholy books, as Duns Scotus observed long since
and many a learned doctor after him.”
Mencken moves on to the haecceity
of good and bad books, especially the bad ones: “If they are utterly and
absolutely bad that badness appears upon the very first page and sometimes even
on the cover. I have a superstition indeed that it is possible to detect a
thoroughly bad novel at 20 paces.”
Most seasoned readers are
similarly gifted. The same goes for any title, and not just fiction, printed with
the announcement of an award, Pulitzer or otherwise, on the cover. Mencken
helpfully supplies a list of books published in the preceding year. I recognize
the names of four writers and have read the two Kipling titles: “[E]ven at 25,”
Mencken writes, “Kipling had ingenuity and originality, a certain craftsmanship
and a workable philosophy of life.” It’s a surprise to see Mencken having good
things to say about Chesterton.
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