Ah! Vanitus Vanitatum! Which of us is happy in this world? Which of us has his desire? or, having it, is satisfied?
That would have to make the list of famous penultimate lines, as it summarizes Vanity Fair
Thackeray’s magnum opus is a sort of anti-picaresque satire of pre-Victorian society – anti-picaresque because most of the “action” is decidedly dull and because the book lacks a hero, a satire for Thackeray’s unflinching looks at the hypocrisy and self-importance of both old- and new-money aristocrats. The novel’s twin centers are the kind, witless, and occasionally simpering Amelia Sedley, born to moderate affluence but with a father who is absolutely reckless with money, and her boarding-school friend Becky Sharp, an orphan with borderline personality disorder who views every person she meets as a potential stepping stone or obstacle to her rise to fortune and status. Both make questionable marriages, bear sons, and follow their husbands to Belgium where both men participate briefly in the war against Napoleon’s forces. From there, the storylines split, only to reunite towards the book’s neither-happy-nor-unhappy ending.
Thackeray’s characterizations are the book’s strength. He sets Becky up as the underdog, only to reveal her as a Machiavellian home-wrecking bitch over the course of a few hundred pages. Amelia might emerge as the heroine until you realize that she’s ineffectual and weak. Even Major Dobbin, probably the one clearly “good” character among the primaries, reveals his own character flaw with his childlike devotion to Amelia, even as she takes him for granted and marries another man.
On the other hand, the satire may have been rapier-sharp in the mid-19th century, but it’s hard to fully appreciate it with little knowledge of the society he’s lampooning. I got more humor from the wordplay (with some help from the footnotes), his knack for absurdly named characters (foreshadowing Wodehouse and Powell?), and his snarky narration. If you think lines like “And the worthy civilian being haunted by a dim consciousness that the lad thought him an ass…” are funny, you’ll enjoy the humor in Vanity Fair, which is much more of that sardonic variety than of a slapstick or other laugh-out-loud style.
Next up: Henry Roth’s Call It Sleep
any desire to read murakami’s memoir?
Keith, I’ve been meaning to ask, though it is off-topic: why the hell does Ellsbury’s undershirt have only a long sleeve on his throwing arm but not his catching arm? Is it to ensure that it stays warm? I’ve been wondering this since he got called up last summer, but now I really want to figure it out.
Keith, a while back you somewhat defended Scott Boras. Are you re-thinking your position in light of the Pirates situation?
Sorry, I’m no Keith, but as to Ellsbury’s arm, he wore it like that for a few games several years back while nursing a nagging arm issue, and he liked the way it looked/felt, so he’s stuck with it. It doesn’t seem to be hurting his image with the ladies… now if we could just get people to stop wearing those pink Ellsbury jerseys.
And love him or hate him, Boras is pretty darn good at what he does, and that’s squeeze a dollar out of 85 cents.
Grant, he waited 10 days to say something about the contract with Pedro Alvarez. He needs 10 days when he could have spoken up after 10 minutes? Please, he is just f—ing Pittsburgh. And all because his client did not get as much as somebdy elses.
Bob – Scott Boras has no obligation to Pittsburgh. His only responsibility is to the best interests of his client, and he just happens to be better at that than anyone else.
MattI agree with that. My question is why he waited 10 days before he said the contract was null and void. He needed 10 days for that?
Bob,
I’m sure he saw something in the contract he didn’t like. Considering the sheer volume of the contracts multiplied by his many clients, it might have taken him a few days to find it and another few days to game plan his next few moves.
Look, I wouldn’t invite Boras to have Thanksgiving dinner with me and Grandma, but he IS good at what he does. I didn’t say that was the best thing for everyone involved but it is always best for: 1.Him 1a. His client. None of us would turn down free money. He looks like a “bad guy” but it doesn’t reflect on Alvarez, and once Alvarez starts tearing up the minors, no one will remember the few extra bucks Boras strong armed from the Pirates.
How can the Pirates give Alvarez more money? Isn’t there a deadline? Either this contract is honored or he is in the 2009 draft, I would think.
Bob:
We don’t know what was said or done behind the scenes during the ten-day interval. The Pirates were the ones to go public with the disagreement because Alvarez failed to report and they put him on the restricted list. Boras merely responded to the allegations.
I don’t have enough information to indict either side right now. However, I can say that I completely understand accepting a post-deadline deal. You take the offer (or advise your client to do so), then look into its legality. This way your client is at least somewhat protected.
Keith, thanks for the response. I know you like to avoid baseball related issues on this site, but this issue intrigues me. And now with the Hosmer sub-plot. I do, however, apologize for initiating a baseball question on this site.
Keith, question for you. I’ve noticed that you often pick the big-ticket work by major authors (e.g. Vanity Fair). I’ve noticed, however, that often I prefer less-known works: for example, I liked Thackeray’s The Luck of Barry Lyndon a hell of a lot more than VF. Perhaps the best example of this, to me, is Evelyn Waugh: everyone grabs Brideshead, but Decline and Fall really is my favorite of Waugh’s works. Any thoughts? I realize that there’s only so much time to get through the “good stuff,” and it is hard to stick with one author when there are so many other good ones out there, but I thought I’d inquire anyway.
ajd: I pick most of the novels I read from the various greatest-book lists I’m always citing, which usually means taking the best-known work(s) by any given author. I’ve delved deeper into several authors’ repertoires – like Waugh’s Scoop and A Handful of Dust – but I typically start at the top.
Keith, thanks for the reply! My original question was, in part, based on criticism in works like Myers’ _Reader’s Manifesto_, i.e. that certain “great” literature is only considered great because it is deemed so by the keepers of the kingdom. I’ve always wondered how useful certain lists of great books are for this very reason — do the authors pick the best books, or do they pick the books that make them look the most intelligent and the most in tune with what other literati value?
Obviously this is moot to some extent, as one simply has to start somewhere. And some of your less-favorable reviews seem to indicate that you agree with this general premise above; I’d just wondered if, once you’ve read other works by authors on these lists, you’d found you preferred them over the best-known books.
By the way, if you’re still into Waugh: the most recent issue of The New York Review of Books (so much for critiquing the literary establishment!) has a really great essay on him and his work, primarily _Brideshead_ and the recent theatrical version. There’s also a nice piece on J.G. Ballard’s new autobiography.
Thanks for the time — this has been a really pleasant diversion from reading for my upcoming comps!