So reader ajd posted this in the comments on my Vanity Fair review, a follow-up to his question of whether I ever read lesser-known works by great authors:
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.
I’m with Myers and ajd to a point; there is no question that some books are considered great because they’ve always been considered great, and I think there are a few books that are considered great because they’re incredibly hard to read. There’s also the whole stream-of-consciousness movement started by Joyce – like a viral infection through the world of fiction – that gets praise from academics but that leaves most readers cold or on the outside altogether. I admit I haven’t read Pamela or Clarissa, but their greatness has to be almost wholly derived from their influence on contemporary or near-contemporary authors, since they’re scarcely read today.
However, there’s a limit to this absolute-contrarian view. Some books are considered great because they’re actually great. One Hundred Years of Solitude (in the top 20 of the Novel 100) is one. Most of you who’ve read The Master and Margarita (which is in the honorable mentions for the Novel 100) agree that it’s phenomenal. I don’t hear anyone saying that Don Quixote (#1 on the Novel 100) isn’t anything special.
I also run into a fair amount of disagreement on the rankings of novels by prolific authors. What is Charles Dickens’ greatest novel? In high school, we read Great Expectations and A Tale of Two Cities. The Novel 100 includes the former, but adds Bleak House and The Pickwick Papers (the latter being my favorite). Some cite Hard Times for its blend of comedy and biting social commentary. And when the Guardian did its list, the only Dickens novel on it was David Copperfield.
Part of why Waugh’s Brideshead Revisited is typically considered his best book is that it’s his most serious, and there is absolutely an academic/critical bias against comic novels. (That said, Modern Library put A Handful of Dust over Brideshead Revisited, while the Bloomsbury 100 includes the former but omits the latter.) It is almost as if a comedy has to be very old (Fielding, Austen) or the author’s only great work (Heller’s Catch-22) to be taken seriously.
Just to be a contrarian…
I read M+M over the summer and thought that while it was good, I didn’t really find it to be all that spectacular. I might have been a victim of high expectations, but somehow the book never clicked with me. I also never liked Catch-22 for similar reasons – I read it and said to myself, “That’s it?”
To some extent, is this not the debate between writing as “art” and writing as “entertainment”? This holds true in a variety of other areas (film, music, theater, etc.). To some extent, the “greatness” is in the eye of the beholder. Some people simply prefer to be entertained, so books like “The DaVinci Code” seem great. Some prefer art, so Joyce ranks high. There is not necessarily one right answer. There is a need to start somewhere, so I think that “greatness” should be defined by whoever is making the list. I don’t think that “because others think it’s great” should be considered a legitimate definition, but to each their own.
Perhaps this is like the MVP debate? Until we agree on a definition of “valuable” people will continue to make decisions that seem indefensible to others?
For myself? I generally just explain why I thought something was great. I think that “Beer Fest” is awesome for very different reasons than I thought “Godfather 2” was awesome and I point these out when talking about them so as not to be mistaken as putting the two films in the same class.
Keith – have you ever read Sometimes a Great Notion by Kesey? I read it a while back and long considered it my favorite book of all time. I recently picked it up again and am reminded of why I thought that (IMO better than Cuckoo’s Nest).
No offense, but someone who thinks Beer Fest is “awesome” probably shouldn’t be allowed to comment on art, unless that person is helping to decide which Playboy playmate’s poster to put on his frat’s bathroom wall.
I don’t know – “awesome to watch while you sit around with your buddies and drink” would fit. I doubt anyone would call Top Secret! art, but I think it’s hilarious and, for its genre, awesome.
John – never read it. Wasn’t aware that Kesey had other novels; I thought he was one and done like Harper Lee.
Thanks, Keith. That was exactly my point. I DO NOT consider “Beer Fest” art. But I do consider it highly entertaining in the right context (pretty much what Keith described). “Greatness” is subjective and highly dependent on what aspects of the item are being evaluated. Try actually reading the whole post next time, Matt.
I’m with you Brian. Context is a key to this discussion. I keep two lists in my head – best books and best reading experiences. Last year’s The Historian by Elizabeth Kostova is one of the best reading experiences I’ve ever had, but I wouldn’t put it on my list of best books. I just happen to love history, connect with the researcher’s “hunt” and dig stories of the occult. Sometimes there is crossover, like WInd-Up Bird Chronicle.
I bristle when someone tells me what is okay to like as a reader (or film watcher, etc.). When I was in college my mom and I caught a movie on HBO. It was late at night, we hadn’t seen each other in a few months and my dad and sister were out of town. The movie was fun – a thriller, contrived but with good actors and some fun twists. To this day I love that movie even though it has some obvious flaws. The movie? Dead Again with Kenneth Branagh and Emma Thompson. I told that story to a film snob and he scoffed at me and said I had no taste.
To me, stories about the context of when a movie was watched or a book read are much more interesting than any snob’s treatise on the brilliance of Citizen Kane. Those are a dime a dozen.
Dead Again was freaking awesome. Go find the film snob and give him the DVD … preferably by shoving it up his ass.
Your point about Kane brought this to mind – Metropolis is the film equivalent of Clarissa for me. I’m sure it was brilliant and maybe even widely seen when it was made, but it is beyond dated and only watchable now on double-speed.
Listen, I’ve seen Beerfest. With buddies. While drinking. And in the theater, so I got the whole experience. And the only awesome thing about it was how awesomely depressing it all made me feel. I love inane, sophomoric comedies just as much as the next guy. And I also love drinking as much as the next guy. But Beerfest was soul-deadeningly bad—by which I mean it lacked even the B-movie so-bad-it’s-funny charm that so many people seem to love these days.
Yes, my opinion is subjective. And, sure, there can be different scales of “greatness.” Even one that equates greatness with stupidity, apparently. The problem with all this relativism is that it kind of makes discussing this stuff pointless:
“Beerfest is great!”
“Um, actually, I thought Beerfest was really awful. You really found the concept of drinking beer from a boot-shaped class and calling it Das Boot funny?”
“Hell yeah! It’s a free country, bud! Great is whatever I want it to be! You’re just a snob!”
“Okay. Great convo.”
Or:
“Harry Potter is nauseatingly banal”
“WHAT DID YOU SAY? How dare you!?? Have you actually read any of the books?”
“Yes, and it was poorly written and unoriginal.”
“Whatever, snob.”
“Cool, great convo.”
If not finding any awesomeness in that movie and similar ones makes me a snob, then hallelujah for snobbery. But so much for, you know, discussion.
Regarding bias against comic novels, I think that’s very true (it’s just as true in film as well, of course), but I think even more damaging is the bias that leads critics to ignore the comic aspects of books and movies that are comic if you’ll let yourself see it. The Sound and the Fury, for instance, is obviously upsetting, but if you take a step back and actually think about the characters in the abstract, Mrs. Compson is very comic, certainly Luster and TP as well. Jason is even funny, and if you really want to push it, Quentin and Benjy have plenty of comic characteristics too. They’re so over the top it’s almost as if they’re part of a farce. But no one ever says this, and if you don’t pay attention to this part, it’s just unrelentingly oppressive. I’ve heard that this is even more true of Absalom, Absalom! but I can’t comment, as I haven’t read it.
Pulp Fiction is an even better example. I think it’s easily the funniest movie I’ve seen, but I don’t ever hear anyone talk about that part of it. Actually, if you don’t find it funny, I’m not sure why you like it in the first place.
That said, I wonder if the bias against comic art isn’t at least a little bit fair. My favorite movies in particular tend be ones that make you laugh but really get deep too, like American Beauty, Casablanca, Adaptation, but I’ve always thought the emotional truth of art is more important and harderd to get at than making you laugh at the absurdity of life. As funny as The Master and Margarita is (I’m only half way through, but it may very well be the funniest piece of art I’ve ever encountered), and as significant as its criticisms are, its lack of emotional realism (that is opposed to physical realism–ghosts aren’t a problem, only caricatures) will always leave it behind books like Beloved, or Gatsby, or The Sound and the Fury or All the Pretty Horses for me. I guess I just think a truly comic novel has less potential than a serious (that’s not the right word, but close enough) novel does. That’s not to say of course that comic novels aren’t underappreciated either.
Hey Matt, how is telling somone that they “probably shouldn’t be allowed to comment on art” because they like a certain movie is promoting good discussion?
I think in a lot of cases, the writer is correct…my friends and I have a theory that many of the “Great Movies” are considered great simply because people don’t get them…they don’t want to seem stupid for not understanding what they are about, so they just say the movie is great and move on…
Of course, I could be completely wrong and just be the guy that is not smart enough to get many of the top books or movies.
Matt: I’ve heard the arguement against relativism many times. As an aside, you wanted to revoke someone’s right to comment on “art.” That falls completely outside the relativism discussion because you’re assuming a universal definition of art.
But the real point of my comment was not to squash discussion, but rather that there are different realms within which it makes sense to compare things. Comparing Beerfest to The Third Man doesn’t make any sense. Comparing it to Bachelor Party or American Pie does.
This still leaves plenty of room for discussion – damned intelligent discussion, in my opinion. In fact, I’d say it’s more fun to discuss what makes Airplane clever and funny and Beerfest unfunny than comparing any two of the AFI’s Top 100. When we draw these distincions we also make it possible to recognize when something that aims low is so good that it transcends those given artistic boundaries – like Trading Places or A Shot in the Dark.
Matt, I’m with you on maintaining discussion/debate/dialogue. Your initial comment though went right to ending the convo by essentially saying I had no right to speak on the matter. I personally feel that it’s the debate that is more fun than the ranking. What’s the point of making a list if you’re not going to argue over it later? You do run the risk of ending up with absolute relativism, in which there is NO standard against which things are judged. Rather, define the standard explicitly; then judge.
The problem with all of this? Keith’s soul-sucking nerd-burgling adherence to computers to tell us what is right and wrong with the world. I’ll win an argument with any computer any day that tries to tell me that Jason Barlett isn’t the league MVP. Mainly because computers can’t argue. Take that, snob.
What? Sorry, KLawbaiting tangent.