This has been eating at me for over a week now, so here comes my two cents on the newly released edition of Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn. First, the facts. New South Books has released a new edition of two of Mark Twain's books in one volume: The Adventures of Tom Sawyer and the Adventures of Huckleberry Finn are both contained in one book. I'm not sure this is controversial or necessary; I think not. Tom Sawyer is one book, primarily a nostalgia and adventure book, and Huck Finn is broader, more expansive, a critique against society as a whole.
More importantly, this edition has replaced all instances of the n-word (and there are 216 of them) with the word 'slave.' I'm not sure if this is a simple find-and-replace job or if it's more sophisticated - I'd like to think Dr. Allen Gribben put a bit more thought into it than just a ten-minute Word macro, but professors are pretty lazy people sometimes, and my guess is he's just a front-man for the publisher. More on that later.
The stated motivation is to remove the discomfort associated with teaching a book that has the n-word to groups of high schoolers. My initial reaction was Fine, let him do what he wants. Abridged versions of Huck Finn abound; there are dozens of knock-off versions for kids and young adults all over Amazon.com (including a manga version!), none of which have the word in question. I recently attended a junior high school play version of Tom Sawyer where Joe was played by a girl, and Injun Joe had been replaced with a non-native American character named Jack-knife Joe. What was one more version going to hurt?
But according to the cover, this version isn't being sold as an abridgment or an adaptation; it's being sold as, more or less, the real thing, which is inexcusable. It should have big stickers on the front: "N-word Free!" or "Now with 20% less racism!" It's not the real thing, and any attempt to teach it in class will be met with more derision than the original did, at least among students who care (and there are more of them than you'd think.) Besides, teachers who are ill-equipped to deal with using the n-word will no doubt be even less equipped to lead discussions on censorship or authorial intent. Why would black students, offended by the n-word, be less offended when it's gone to avoid offending them? Unless they never know it's gone, and no one ever knew it was there, which would just be sad and Orwellian.
In the flurry of accusations of censorship, no one has much mentioned another motive for publishing this edition: Money. I have no doubt that people will buy this edition for teaching, at least on an experimental basis. And because it has been edited, it is subject to copyright, meaning New South Books has an exclusive distribution right to all copies of Huck Finn where the word Slave has replaced the more offensive one. So: Ka-Ching! New South Books has a cash cow.
Which means that if their book is successful, other publishers will have to copy their success, which means there will be one edition with the word Negro, and another with n***, and another, perhaps, with the word 'homey.' Eventually, because of sales to high schools, these will be more common than the un-edited (and less profitable) original editions. Huck Finn as Twain envisioned it dies a slow, nasty death because of some college professor and his find-and-replace final solution to appease squeamish teenagers and prudish parents.
Other books will be censored. All cigarettes will be removed from Raymond Carver and F. Scott Fitzgerald. They'll take the drug use out of Burroughs, the sex from Updike. And it won't be censorship, really, it'll be profit motive, because these books wouldn't be in high schools without a bit of cleanup. Soon we'll be awash in counterfeit Huck Finns, Moby-Dicks, and Jane Austens, and eventually no one will ever know where the truth lies. The new editions will be pushed silently out to our kindles and nooks, and people who know there was once a gun in ET will be dismissed as crackpots. We'll be in an Orwellian un-truth state, unable to discern naughty words from good words for ourselves, and we might as well edit anything that makes us feel ishy, just to be safe. It's a worst case scenario, I know. And not to go too far afield from Huck Finn here, but think about it: when will you ever see the original theatrical release of Star Wars again? Will you ever see Han Solo shoot first again? No, you won't.
I can't help you with the theatrical release of Star Wars; but I can direct you to Project Gutenberg, which has the original 1885 edition of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn available for download in HTML, plain text, Kindle, nook, and ePub format. Read it as it was, and keep it safe.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Await your Reply: A review
I like this interview with novelist Dan Chaon, found on The Believer. I like the part where he talks about his tiny little grotto in the attic where he writes, the "filthy hermit's apartment stuffed with stacks of newspapers and petrified sandwiches." I also like the part where he equates the writer's life with that of a drunk, where you "go on an all-night bender and then waking up and thinking, "You know, I think I'll do that again.""
I got to that interview because I recently read Chaon (pronouncing like Shawn)'s latest novel, "Await your Reply," last week. It's a suspense novel told in three braided parts by three young adults held in the thrall of shadowy mentors. There are allusions to Frankenstein, to Hitchcock, to Stephen King. The main plot is driven by identity theft and internet scams, and the question of how these people are connected. After a slow start, it picks up steam and becomes an enthralling, haunting page turner.
It's spooky as hell, really, even if not everything works right. I had a hard time believing Lucy, a recent high school graduate who has run off with her history teacher, was really in love. It wasn't just the lack of any sexual energy between the two characters, but her overall passivity that turned me off. Likewise, Miles, whose twin brother descended into the depths of schizophrenia, was equally passive, and though intensely obsessed with finding his twin Hayden, was clumsy and incompetent as an investigator. Ryan, the third central character, goes to Las Vegas to execute a con that nets him thousands of dollars, and spends the night in his hotel room, too spooked to order up a forty dollar hooker. Something about that just seemed wrong to me, but maybe that says more about me and my dirty mind than it does about Chaon's skills as a novelist.
Also, the details of the identity scams that backbone the master plots were laughably sketchy. The central scam itself that gives the novel its title is based on a variant of the Nigerian scam that any fifth grader can see through, which seriously undermines what little reality underlies the plot. Chaon freely admits he didn't to a lot of research on the authenticity of internet scams, preferring to concentrate on the psychology of theft, so I'll cut him some slack for that, because as I said earlier, it's a pretty good page turner.
There are also some beautiful scenes in this novel: one fantastic set piece takes two characters to the bottom of an evaporated lake bed in Nebraska, where a once drowned village has been returned to the air in a state of phantasmagoric transformation. Miles's journey to a remote island in the Canadian arctic is equally harrowing. And the conception of individuals as real-life representations of on-line personas whose real life is in the Internet, is a disturbing allegory of modern isolationism, and I awoke one night from disturbing dreams whose seeds, I'm sure, were planted in this novel. Chaon himself, tucked away in his writer's attic, clicking his way around the internet while researching this book, probably got a little spooked during the course of his writing, and who could blame him?
Lots of people called this their favorite book of 2009, including Michael Schaub of Bookslut. It was also a finalist for the National Book Awards of that year. While Schaub may have been a bit overexuberant, it's easy to see his point. Who are we, and what is a person? Chaon asks these sorts of questions all the time. True, it's kind of a naive question, really, when you think about it. But in the age of the Internet, when we as persons are defined more as agents in a transactional monetary system, rather than as biological beings with connections to other real people, it's one worth asking. "Await your Reply" may or may not work for you, but it's important because it finds answers that are disturbing but true, which is what we should expect of any art.
I got to that interview because I recently read Chaon (pronouncing like Shawn)'s latest novel, "Await your Reply," last week. It's a suspense novel told in three braided parts by three young adults held in the thrall of shadowy mentors. There are allusions to Frankenstein, to Hitchcock, to Stephen King. The main plot is driven by identity theft and internet scams, and the question of how these people are connected. After a slow start, it picks up steam and becomes an enthralling, haunting page turner.
It's spooky as hell, really, even if not everything works right. I had a hard time believing Lucy, a recent high school graduate who has run off with her history teacher, was really in love. It wasn't just the lack of any sexual energy between the two characters, but her overall passivity that turned me off. Likewise, Miles, whose twin brother descended into the depths of schizophrenia, was equally passive, and though intensely obsessed with finding his twin Hayden, was clumsy and incompetent as an investigator. Ryan, the third central character, goes to Las Vegas to execute a con that nets him thousands of dollars, and spends the night in his hotel room, too spooked to order up a forty dollar hooker. Something about that just seemed wrong to me, but maybe that says more about me and my dirty mind than it does about Chaon's skills as a novelist.
Also, the details of the identity scams that backbone the master plots were laughably sketchy. The central scam itself that gives the novel its title is based on a variant of the Nigerian scam that any fifth grader can see through, which seriously undermines what little reality underlies the plot. Chaon freely admits he didn't to a lot of research on the authenticity of internet scams, preferring to concentrate on the psychology of theft, so I'll cut him some slack for that, because as I said earlier, it's a pretty good page turner.
There are also some beautiful scenes in this novel: one fantastic set piece takes two characters to the bottom of an evaporated lake bed in Nebraska, where a once drowned village has been returned to the air in a state of phantasmagoric transformation. Miles's journey to a remote island in the Canadian arctic is equally harrowing. And the conception of individuals as real-life representations of on-line personas whose real life is in the Internet, is a disturbing allegory of modern isolationism, and I awoke one night from disturbing dreams whose seeds, I'm sure, were planted in this novel. Chaon himself, tucked away in his writer's attic, clicking his way around the internet while researching this book, probably got a little spooked during the course of his writing, and who could blame him?
Lots of people called this their favorite book of 2009, including Michael Schaub of Bookslut. It was also a finalist for the National Book Awards of that year. While Schaub may have been a bit overexuberant, it's easy to see his point. Who are we, and what is a person? Chaon asks these sorts of questions all the time. True, it's kind of a naive question, really, when you think about it. But in the age of the Internet, when we as persons are defined more as agents in a transactional monetary system, rather than as biological beings with connections to other real people, it's one worth asking. "Await your Reply" may or may not work for you, but it's important because it finds answers that are disturbing but true, which is what we should expect of any art.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Mini-Anthology of the best stories I read last year
It's almost the end of list-making season, so I thought I'd join the fun. Here's a top-of-my-head mini-anthology of great stories I read last year, from any source, new or classic or whatever.
Defender of the Faith, by Philip Roth (O. Henry Prize Stories, 1960 (second place!))
Early in his career, Roth was just as powerful as he is today. This story about an army Sergeant torn between his Jewish identity and his duties in the army is complicated, powerful, and moving. Roth deserves every award in America, and every reader.
Closely Held, by Allegra Goodman (BASS 2008)
Goodman just writes damn well. Like Roth, she touches on normal experiences and expands them into the cosmosphere. This one's about a computer entrepreneur whose company is getting huge, but he just wants to write code. He's also growing distant from his over-worked wife, and almost begins an affair with the only female coder in his office. A beautiful story.
The Fake Nazi, by Aimee Bender (Ploughshares, nos 2 & 3)
Aimee Bender surprised me here. As a modern American, she takes on Nazi guilt, metaphysical ponderings, sibling rivalry, 21st century politics, and delivers a weird, satisfying experience.
Sublime Child, by Gina Berrault (O. Henry Prize Stories, 1960)
This story is a about a married New Yorker whose mistress dies. Her daughter is 19, and out of sympathy at first, he continues to visit her. Then he gets other motives for visiting her. Inappropriate things occur. Choices are made. Ominous and creepy, a demonstration that mature themes don't involve explicit sex.
Cowboys, by Susan Steinberg (American Short Fiction Issue 47)
A poetic short piece about a woman mourning the death of her father and meditating on her own ensuing promiscuity. Stories that wallow in the depths of bad behavior are filled with tripwires that explode in bad fiction, but Steinberg's voice was original and her emotions honest, and it didn't pad or get self-pitying.
Nawabdin Electrician, by Daniyal Mueenuddin (In Other Rooms, Other Wonders)
A great story with an honest voice about corruption, poverty, and justice in Pakistan. These are themes some Americans are afraid to touch without distance and irony, but this story about an aging electrician who gains the respect of his community, and its slow build to a conclusion around the theft of his motorcycle is powerful and elegant, a story that could never take place in America but nevertheless touches universal themes.
Lorelei, by Jerome Charyn (Atlantic Fiction edition)
When I think back on this summer, and the time I spent with this story, I think about homecomings and disappointments, and meditations on how people become the people they are, and how they stay that way despite their own best interests. I loved this story about a con man who returns home to find his first love still tucked into her childhood life, and the reunion that turns to horror, that is also the story of a decaying way of life, a Southern Gothic in a New Jersey hi-rise.
The Kid, Salvatore Scibona (New Yorker summer fiction edition)
Just go read this one. It'll break your heart.
Nobody Said Anything, by Raymond Carver (Will you Please be Quiet, Please)
Carver did so much with so little that a lot of people think he's over-rated. People dismiss him as Bukowski without the sadism, or Hemingway without the macho posturing, or as precursor to minimalist navel-gazing. But he's not that - he's Carver, king of the eighties, and still worth reading. Anyway, this story is about an adolescent kid who plays sick to stay home from school, then goes down to the local stream to fish. When he gets home with his trophy, his parents are fighting, and in the closing moments, as his joy breaks against his parent's heartache, you'll understand what the fuss around Carver was about. Or, if you feel nothing, you'll know you have a heart of stone, and there is no hope for your soul.
The Silence, TC Boyle (Atlantic Fiction Edition)
Wacky, deep satire. Funny, ambitious, crazy. How Boyle tosses off things like this is a mystery. It's about pilgrims in the desert, being stupid. Snark, but snark I like. So I'm complicated. Sue me.
2011 will no doubt take more turns than I can expect. Hang on!
Defender of the Faith, by Philip Roth (O. Henry Prize Stories, 1960 (second place!))
Early in his career, Roth was just as powerful as he is today. This story about an army Sergeant torn between his Jewish identity and his duties in the army is complicated, powerful, and moving. Roth deserves every award in America, and every reader.
Closely Held, by Allegra Goodman (BASS 2008)
Goodman just writes damn well. Like Roth, she touches on normal experiences and expands them into the cosmosphere. This one's about a computer entrepreneur whose company is getting huge, but he just wants to write code. He's also growing distant from his over-worked wife, and almost begins an affair with the only female coder in his office. A beautiful story.
The Fake Nazi, by Aimee Bender (Ploughshares, nos 2 & 3)
Aimee Bender surprised me here. As a modern American, she takes on Nazi guilt, metaphysical ponderings, sibling rivalry, 21st century politics, and delivers a weird, satisfying experience.
Sublime Child, by Gina Berrault (O. Henry Prize Stories, 1960)
This story is a about a married New Yorker whose mistress dies. Her daughter is 19, and out of sympathy at first, he continues to visit her. Then he gets other motives for visiting her. Inappropriate things occur. Choices are made. Ominous and creepy, a demonstration that mature themes don't involve explicit sex.
Cowboys, by Susan Steinberg (American Short Fiction Issue 47)
A poetic short piece about a woman mourning the death of her father and meditating on her own ensuing promiscuity. Stories that wallow in the depths of bad behavior are filled with tripwires that explode in bad fiction, but Steinberg's voice was original and her emotions honest, and it didn't pad or get self-pitying.
Nawabdin Electrician, by Daniyal Mueenuddin (In Other Rooms, Other Wonders)
A great story with an honest voice about corruption, poverty, and justice in Pakistan. These are themes some Americans are afraid to touch without distance and irony, but this story about an aging electrician who gains the respect of his community, and its slow build to a conclusion around the theft of his motorcycle is powerful and elegant, a story that could never take place in America but nevertheless touches universal themes.
Lorelei, by Jerome Charyn (Atlantic Fiction edition)
When I think back on this summer, and the time I spent with this story, I think about homecomings and disappointments, and meditations on how people become the people they are, and how they stay that way despite their own best interests. I loved this story about a con man who returns home to find his first love still tucked into her childhood life, and the reunion that turns to horror, that is also the story of a decaying way of life, a Southern Gothic in a New Jersey hi-rise.
The Kid, Salvatore Scibona (New Yorker summer fiction edition)
Just go read this one. It'll break your heart.
Nobody Said Anything, by Raymond Carver (Will you Please be Quiet, Please)
Carver did so much with so little that a lot of people think he's over-rated. People dismiss him as Bukowski without the sadism, or Hemingway without the macho posturing, or as precursor to minimalist navel-gazing. But he's not that - he's Carver, king of the eighties, and still worth reading. Anyway, this story is about an adolescent kid who plays sick to stay home from school, then goes down to the local stream to fish. When he gets home with his trophy, his parents are fighting, and in the closing moments, as his joy breaks against his parent's heartache, you'll understand what the fuss around Carver was about. Or, if you feel nothing, you'll know you have a heart of stone, and there is no hope for your soul.
The Silence, TC Boyle (Atlantic Fiction Edition)
Wacky, deep satire. Funny, ambitious, crazy. How Boyle tosses off things like this is a mystery. It's about pilgrims in the desert, being stupid. Snark, but snark I like. So I'm complicated. Sue me.
2011 will no doubt take more turns than I can expect. Hang on!
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