Posts filed under “Books & Literature”
“Le Chapeau Pamela, Instrument qui prive le Patient de la Vue” (“The Pamela Hat, an instrument that deprives the patient of sight”), from Les Tortures de la mode by Cham.
Two days ago, Dr. Boli suggested to literary historians that they should eliminate the word “transgressive” from their vocabulary, on the grounds that the word says absolutely nothing. A certain professor of literature, who may or may not be a fictional character himself, asked Dr. Boli why he thought this was so, and Dr. Boli answered that the word had become utterly meaningless because there was literally no work of literature to which it had not been applied. This led to an argument that in some circles might have come to blows, but instead came to Internet searches, which in literary circles is the same thing.
The question, to repeat, is whether there is any work of literature to which the word “transgressive” has not been applied. To answer it, Dr. Boli asked himself, What is the least transgressive (in the original sense of the term) work of literature in English? Surely it would have to be Pamela; or, Virtue Rewarded, by Samuel Richardson, the enormously popular novel whose utterly conventional middle-class commercial morality so disgusted readers of real feeling that it literally created the greatest novelist in the English language merely to respond to it: namely, Henry Fielding, who began his novel-writing career by writing parodies of Pamela.
So we search Google for “Richardson Pamela ‘transgressive,’ ” and what do we find?
“Richardson creates a socially transgressive heroine in Pamela. Able to withstand the sexual advances of her male prerogative, reform her…” (Evidently the word “prerogative” has also come to mean something else while Dr. Boli’s back was turned.)
“Castle argues that the transgressive events of Part 1, in which a member of the…”
“…as a sign of virtue assumed a more transgressive aspect in Pamela.”
“…telling her own story is, in the eighteenth century, transgressive for a…”
“…to the audience about the title-character’s transgressive social situation.”
Well, perhaps we picked the wrong novel. But is there any novel in English to which the word has not been applied?
We search for “Dickens Barnaby Rudge ‘transgressive’ ”:
“In the first half of his career, Dickens wrote some of the most important novels of the nineteenth…They are exorbitant and transgressive books, with an inventive comic force unprecedented in the English novel.”
Well, let’s try “Austen Northanger Abbey ‘transgressive’ ”:
“The Dialogic Mode in Jane Austen’s ”Northanger Abbey”: The Manorial…which contextualizes and substantiates the transgressive character of…”
How about “Trollope Prime Minister ‘transgressive’ ”?
“…transgressive, antibourgeois elements in a novelist like Trollope. On controversial…”
How about “Horatio Alger ‘transgressive’ ”?
“Moon’s topic is gender and class relations in Horatio Alger’s mid- to…Moon describes Alger’s discourse as transgressive, as a way of…”
In current academic jargon, then, to say that a work of literature is “transgressive” is simply to say that it is a work of literature. Dr. Boli has no objection to anyone’s pointing out that a work of literature is in fact a work of literature instead of a fan belt or a picnic basket, but we should recognize that the word “transgressive” makes no more distinction than that.
When you have finished writing an article about a work of literature, use your word processor’s “Find” function to search for the word transgressive. If you find that you have used the word transgressive in your article, delete the entire file and begin again, this time not setting finger to keyboard until you have something to say.
It is delightful to talk about one’s favorite books, and occasionally Dr. Boli has the opportunity to do just that at some length, with nobody stopping him, for Serif Press editions of classic works of the past. The latest addition to the catalogue is Aphra Behn’s short novel Oroonoko: or, the Royal Slave, with an introduction by H. Albertus Boli. This is one of the many books often pointed out as the “first novel in English,” though it is of course useless to identify which is the first novel in English until one can get literary critics to agree on a definition of “novel,” and getting literary critics to agree on anything requires chairs and whips. Furthermore, there is some question as to whether the book is fiction at all; like all fictions of the era, it claims to be a true story, but then all true stories of the era also claim to be true stories.
Here, at any rate, is Dr. Boli’s introduction, reprinted by permission from the Serif Press edition of Oroonoko. And if you think the book is something you might like to read, you might wish to invest a few dollars in an attractively printed paperback edition.
The question everyone wants to ask about Oroonoko is whether it is, as the original title page says, a true history, or whether it is a work of fiction. This is, however, a question we shall probably never be able to answer, and the reason is that the same question can be asked about the life of the author—and never successfully answered.
No one knows who Aphra Behn was. This is quite an accomplishment on her part. She was a famous woman in her time. Her plays were hits on the stage. She was a great wit in a civilization of great wits. At a time when cleverness was more respected than perhaps at any other time in English history, the word “ingenious” belonged to her; it was her personal property, and to the world at large she was “The Ingenious Mrs. Aphra Behn.” Naturally, people wanted to know who she was and where she came from. And she told them.
But she does not seem to have told any one consistent story. There are at least half a dozen different accounts of her birth and parentage. Even her birth name is unknown—or, to put it another way, several different birth names are known for her. In every tale she told, she seems to have poured truth and fiction into a big pot and stirred them around until they were so thoroughly mixed that no one could ever sort them out again.
One thing we do seem to know about her life is that she worked as a spy for Charles II (who never paid what he owed for her services), using her feminine wiles and her gift for plausible fictions in Amsterdam during the Anglo-Dutch War. We also know that she moved in a circle of libertines, and, as one Victorian writer politely puts it, “It is impossible, with what we know regarding her life, to defend her manners as correct or her attitude to the world as delicate.”* [Edmund Gosse, “Behn, Afra,” in the Dictionary of National Biography.] She was married to a man named Behn for a while, but he did not leave her in easy circumstances, and when King Charles did not come through with her payment, she was forced to turn to her pen for sustenance. Modern critics regard her as the first female professional writer in history. She died at the age of 48, scribbling to the end; it is usually said that she died from the effects of poverty and overwork, although she might also have suffered from one of the various diseases incident to incorrect manners and an indelicate attitude to the world.
One thing we do not know about Aphra Behn is whether she was ever in Suriname, the scene of the second half of Oroonoko. Earlier biographies take it for granted that she was, but the information comes entirely from what the narrator of Oroonoko says about herself, and it requires some twisting to make those details fit some of the other known facts about Mrs. Behn. On the other hand, her descriptions of Suriname are so colorful and filled with accurate detail that it seems unlikely she got them from books. She could have got them from books, but as a professional writer Aphra Behn counted on being able to turn out the greatest number of words in the shortest possible time. In her Epistle Dedicatory, Mrs. Behn claims that “I never rested my pen a moment for thought” in writing Oroonoko, but wrote the whole narrative in a few hours. We do not get the impression that she liked to waste time on research.
So the book itself makes a plausible case for her having been in the English colony in Suriname for a while. Then is the story a true history, or is it a fiction with local color informed by actual experience?
We can be certain that some of it is fiction, simply by reading the book. The incidents at crucial points of the love between Oroonoko and Imoinda are obvious fictional constructions, exactly the sorts of incidents that filled the immense folio romances of Mademoiselle de Scudéry at about the time Mrs. Behn was writing. When dancing Imoinda trips and falls straight into Oroonoko’s arms, thus revealing their still-burning love, we can be sure that we detect the hand of the author laboring to advance her plot. When, later, the lovers are reunited because Imoinda runs out of her hut chasing a little dog she is very fond of, we may realize that the dog has been summoned into existence only for this purpose, and immediately vanishes from the universe when his job is done.
On the other hand, the slave rebellion led by Oroonoko has the ring of truth; it is too sloppy to be a bit of romantic machinery. The fact that real people with real names are involved in the tale is also suggestive. In particular, the villainous deputy-governor Byam, a real figure who really was in charge of the colony at the time, is painted as an appalling rascal, which seems like an odd thing for a novelist to do to a real person against whom she would have had no occasion for a grudge unless she had known him. We get the strong impression that Mrs. Behn still trembles with fury when she thinks of Byam, as if she really had been witness to something unforgivable.
These observations lead us in contradictory directions, and we are no nearer the truth than when we started. It still seems impossible to decide whether the story is truth or fiction. We may ask a little help, however, from the well-known Restoration playwright Thomas Southerne.
Southerne made a very successful stage adaptation of Oroonoko, which for the next two centuries would be better known than the original book. In his dedication, he expressed his surprise that Mrs. Behn had not adapted it herself, but he proposed an explanation.
“She had a great command of the stage; and I have often wonder’d that she would bury her favourite hero in a Novel, when she might have reviv’d him in the Scene. She thought either that no actor could represent him, or she could not bear to see him represented: And I believe the last, when I remember what I have heard from a friend of hers, That she always told his story, more feelingly, than she writ it.”
This is hearsay of a particularly tenuous sort: a friend of a friend told us. But still, if we take what Southerne says as truth, then Mrs. Behn felt a strong emotional attachment to the character and story of Oroonoko, and it was a story she told to her friends.
When we put these observations together with the anger our narrator displays in the story, we can come up with a plausible hypothesis. Aphra Behn really was in Suriname, and did know the real characters she mentions there. She knew, or knew of, an African who strongly impressed her as a noble and princely man, who was mistreated, rebelled in some way, and was punished abominably for it. Around this character she gradually built a romance in her own mind, and in her usual fashion mixed truth and fiction so thoroughly that she herself probably could not have sorted out which was which. She wrote it down in a great rush after having told the embellished story many times to her friends.
This hypothesis hangs from gossamer threads, but it fits well with the known character of Mrs. Behn, and it is probably as good as any other notion you will hear of how Oroonoko came to be.
Today Oroonoko is a very popular book, especially among teachers looking to check off trendy boxes in literature assignments. It is a book by an independent woman, perhaps the first woman who was a professional writer in the sense of making her living by literature; and its hero is an African prince unjustly enslaved, so it can count as an anti-slavery novel.
But is it anti-slavery? What is Aphra Behn’s opinion on slavery? She herself might not have been able to answer that question. What answer will you get if you ask someone here in the twenty-first century, “What is your opinion on war?” It is a hard question to answer. Most of us will agree that war is a bad thing, but it is a fact: no one we know has ever lived in a world without it. Since war is a fact of our world, the best we can say is that, in the face of war, there are people who act honorably and people who act dishonorably. This is what we see in Mrs. Behn’s treatment of slavery. There has never been a world without slavery in her experience, but given that slavery is a fact, there are honorable and dishonorable ways of acting. Mrs. Behn will not be shy about pointing out who in her story is acting dishonorably. And of course the most honorable character in it is Oroonoko himself, the royal slave—but he himself traded in slaves before he was captured.
It may be disappointing to modern readers that Mrs. Behn does not confront the issue of slavery directly. But issues do not interest her. People do. Half her story is set in Africa, but the most striking thing about it is not the otherness of the Africans, to use a favorite academic term, but the sameness of the Africans. They live in a world where the rules and customs are very different from ours. But they are not representatives of those rules and customs. They are individuals. Some are fine and honorable, some cowardly. Few are outright villains; even the old king, whose lust and selfishness send the story reeling toward tragedy, is a human being with a conscience. These are people like us, Mrs. Behn’s seventeenth-century readers, with our virtues and our vices.
In the same way, the white colonists in Suriname are people with their own characters and traits. They do not represent issues. Mrs. Behn’s slave-trading captain is not a cad because he is a slave-trader; he is a cad who happens to be a slave-trader, so slave-trading is the way his caddishness expresses itself. Her abominable deputy governor would be an awful man even if he had never had the opportunity to torture a noble African prince. Her most honorable white settlers are slave-owners, but people with consciences who will risk their lives for a noble African.
In short, if there is a message to Oroonoko, it is that people should act nobly and not basely in whatever circumstances fate hands them. This is hardly a new idea, but it is the one great idea of all world literature. It may disappoint us in an era when we judge literature by its political utility, but fortunately the ingenious Mrs. Behn’s fame will outlive our narrow era by many centuries.
English Literature students in England will be allowed to opt out of poetry in this year’s exams, on account of “difficulties for students in trying to get to grips with complex literary texts remotely.”
To Dr. Boli, this seems like a drastic step. But there is good news. If one can “opt out,” then one can also stay in. For his young English readers who do not wish to have their future careers hampered by a lack of poetic education, Dr. Boli presents this
FOR GETTING TO GRIPS WITH COMPLEX LITERARY TEXTS IN THE HOME ENVIRONMENT.
1. Hold the complex literary text in front of you with the front cover facing up. Note that there will be one side of the text on which the edges of the pages are not visible. That is called the spine, and if you are reading a text in English, it should be to your left.
2. Open the complex literary text by grasping the cover on the right-hand edge and moving it in an arc until it lies opposite its original position on the other side of the spine.
3. Repeat this process with the first few pages, ignoring the page with the title and author’s name in big type, until you come to a page with lots of words on it.
4. There are likely to be anywhere from a few to several dozen pages headed “preface” or “introduction.” In the complex-literary-text business, these are known as the “rubbish.” Keep turning past them, and you will arrive at the complex literary text.
5. Read the complex literary text.
6. Enjoy the bracing sensation of storms of electrical impulses raging across your neural network.
7. IMPORTANT: If the storms of electrical impulses become too violent for your personal comfort, a nice cup of tea will help.
George Washington was, in the most literal sense, a giant among men. But only one book tells the whole truth about Washington the human being:
How his mastery of the art of the dispatch made winning actual battles superfluous.
How he captured Trenton with the power of money alone.
How he defeated Cornwallis even without the use of giant floating platforms and ships on rollers.
How he was bedeviled all his life by the sinister machinations of malevolent invisible animals.
This is the story of George Washington as it could be told only by one of his closest friends. You will never think of the Father of His Country the same way again, unless you already thought of him as a twenty-foot man pursued by an invisible mule named Irving.
Dr. Boli promised this book earlier in the year, and now here it is. You can read the first chapter on this site. Then you will doubtless wish to buy the book, which is waiting to wing its way toward you at the speed of diesel-powered vehicle, or even faster if you prefer the ebook version.
Monday, August 10, is George Washington Day. Be ready for the whole truth about the Father of His Country. Here is a very short specimen of what you may expect.
Meanwhile the business of creating a government occupied most of the meetings of Congress; and as Congress created the positions, the President was required to nominate men to fill them. Of course Washington could think of only one man to be the Secretary of the Treasury, and Mr. Hamilton was hardly able to contain his joy at being able to found his own currency.
“We shall base it on tens,” he explained, “which will at a stroke eliminate the difficulties of converting between pounds, shillings, dollars, and all the other coins that jangle in our purses; and we shall have a national currency, so that there will be no complicated formula, as there is now, to convert the coin of New Hampshire to that of North Carolina. As the people are familiar with the name, and as it carries no memories of our oppression by the British, we shall call our coin the dollar, and if—”
“And these dollars,” Washington interrupted—“of what size and weight will they be?”
“The weight, of course, will depend on the value we assign to the United States dollar; as for the size, we shall consult with the men we choose to run our mint, who will be able to tell us how such and so much a weight of silver is best distributed in a coin.”
“These are very important considerations from the point of view of a coin’s projectile properties,” said Washington. “The Spanish milled dollar travels well through the air, and possesses enough heft to carry it to its target without being too much buffeted by the wind. I should hate to see an American dollar without those properties; for men who throw dollars for sport are very particular about the dollars they throw, and might reject our United States dollar if its range and accuracy do not meet their expectations.”
“I am certain you could persuade our mint to take those considerations into account,” said Hamilton. “Now, as I said, multiples of ten will—”
“A milled edge also improves the grip, which for sporting purposes is one of the most important considerations.”
“Yes. The grip. Now, as I was saying, we shall make our dollar divisible into tens, which we might call ‘dimes,’ as being, of course, the tenth part of a dollar. A tenth part of a dime would then be a ‘cent,’ because it is the hundredth part of—”
“I thought you said it was the tenth part.”
“It is the tenth part of a dime, and therefore the hundredth part of a dollar.”
“Why can’t it make up its mind?”
“It is both at the same time!”
“My word! That’s clever.”
“And then the tenth part of a cent would be a mill, bec—”
“Because it is the millionth part of a dollar!”
“No,” Hamilton explained with strained patience, “only the thousandth part.”
“Then why is it called a mill?”
“Because it is—”
“Why not a thou?”
“Because the names come from Latin, or rather—”
“Oh, Latin,” said Washington knowingly. “Well, Latin is another matter altogether.”
Hamilton was about to say something more, but then appeared to realize that he had won as much of a victory as he was likely to win in this discussion, and resumed his earlier topic. “As I was saying, the division into tens will make calculations much easier for ordinary shopkeepers and merchants, who will find their duties lightened considerably.”
“For example,” said Washington, “if I buy a turkey quill at Stimson’s in Alexandria for one bit, which is an eighth of a dollar, then that comes to…now let me see…”
“Twelve and a half cents,” said Susanna.
“Twelve and a half? Well, that doesn’t sound very easy at all. How is that easier than saying ‘one bit,’ Hamilton?”
“It just is!” Hamilton sputtered. “Tens are easier!”
I looked at Susanna, but she had nothing more to say. With Hamilton’s explosion, she had accomplished her goal.
Monday, August 10, is George Washington Day. Be ready for the whole truth about the Father of His Country. Here is a very short specimen of what you may expect.
“It sounds very well,” said Washington, “but how are we to be sure of victory against so great an army? Cornwallis has greater numbers on his side.”
“The French fleet, sir, will be essential,” replied Susanna. “Cornwallis, we hear, has taken a position on the peninsula. If the French can prevent his escape by water, and prevent his being reinforced or resupplied, then we need only block the land routes, and we have him.”
This seemed like good advice to Washington, and so Admiral de Grasse was summoned to a meeting with the General, at which La Fayette was also present, along with Susanna and me. We unrolled a large map of the peninsula between the York and James rivers, and the three great leaders studied it in intense silence for a while. At last Washington spoke.
“If we dispose our soldiers here, on the north and east, with Fayette’s French army on the south, then you, Admiral, should be able to cut off Cornwallis completely by water to the west.”
“Yes,” de Grasse agreed, “the plan, it is excellent. He shall not escape us, by blue.”
Susanna looked down at the map. “I believe, sirs, that you have mistaken the water for the land, and the land for the water. These wavy lines here, you see, indicate the water; the land is this area behind them, here.”
“Ah!” said Washington. “Thank you, Phillips. Well spotted. That is important information, and complicates the strategy considerably. We cannot expect the men to stand very long in water that is possibly up to their necks, or even over their heads. We shall need to make some adaptations; perhaps some sort of bridge or pier assembly, or better yet a series of floating wooden platforms with which we can surround the peninsula on three sides, and on which the men can stand dryshod for an indefinite period of time. It will require a good bit of wood, which will require a good bit of labor; although the labor will be hastened considerably if we can find any large stands of wild cherry. That will do for the army; but, unless I am very much mistaken, the disposition of the fleet will require at least as much thought and labor, if not more.”
“Very assuredly,” the Admiral agreed. “I believe that a construction of the rollers, made perhaps of the trunks of the trees, will be necessary for the placing of the ships in position, if indeed suitable trees find themselves nearby.”
“Well, there fortune favors us,” said Washington. “Tidewater Virginia has many stands of pine that grow straight and tall, with few branches until very near the top; such trees would, it seems to me, make admirable rollers for our purposes.”
Susanna was sitting with her head down, her eyes closed, and her fingers on her temples; but now she spoke again. “If I may be so bold, sirs, it might be better to reverse the positions of the army and the fleet.”
The General and the Admiral both looked at her blankly for a moment; then Washington spoke slowly and cautiously. “Do you mean, the army on the land, and the navy in the water?”
“Yes, sir,” Susanna said with care and patience. “Each force deployed in its native element, so to speak.”
“My word, Phillips! How much simpler that makes everything! You see, Admiral, why I insist on having Captain Phillips present whenever we discuss strategy.”