A young reader asks “Why ‘anecdotal’?” It was a last-minute decision that Sunday afternoon almost eighteen years ago. I had it narrowed down to three or four potential titles but liked the legal/criminological connotation of “anecdotal evidence,” which is always judged suspect by officialdom. I was also thinking of a remark by Dr. Johnson reported by Boswell in his Journal of a Tour to the Hebrides (1785):
“I love anecdotes. I fancy mankind may come, in time, to write
all aphoristically, except in narrative; grow weary of preparation, and
connection, and illustration, and all those arts by which a big book is made.
If a man is to wait till he weaves anecdotes into a system, we may be long in
getting them, and get but a few, in comparison of what we might get.”
I had no interest in a “big book,” a “tome.” I was digitally naïve
but relished the independence of a blog. No editors breathing down my neck. So
many blogs back in 2006 were badly written (not that much has changed). I
figured I could do better. There is something “down-home” about anecdotes. Everyone
collects them and some of us enjoy them. Their informality is a given not
contradicted by my devotion to a semi-formal but non-academic style.
In English, the original meaning of “anecdote” Dr. Johnson
tells us in his Dictionary was “something
yet unpublished; secret history,” like samizdat.
Nicely evocative of a non-aligned sensibility at work. Then Johnson adds the
definition of “anecdote” as it evolved: “It is now used, after the French, for
a biographical incident; a minute passage of private life.” That’s the real
gem, written “aphoristically.”
Irving Howe helped me settle on the blog’s
title. In “Anecdote and Storyteller,” posthumously collected in A Critic’s Notebook (1994), he defines
an anecdote as a “brief, unelaborated, often humorous account of a single
incident, taken to be piquant in its own right.” He adds: “One of its
attractions is that in times of dislocation, the anecdote holds out the
possibility that human beings may still connect, perhaps only briefly, through
memory and story.”
Just this afternoon, my older brother and I were visiting a cemetery, where we got into a conversation with a cemetery employee out under a tree. The man started into telling us some lore of the old place and then stopped. "Never mind," he said. "It's a long story." My brother, a retired journalist, said, "Tell me. I love stories." And the guy told us some stories and they were good ones.
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