Only a Blockhead

Draw Your Own Conclusion

Here are the first two paragraphs of Edgar Rice Burroughs's Tarzan of the Apes, a book thought suitable for boys and girls back in the days before they were called "young adults."

I had this story from one who had no business to tell it to me, or to any other. I may credit the seductive influence of an old vintage upon the narrator for the beginning of it, and my own skeptical incredulity during the days that followed for the balance of the strange tale.

When my convivial host discovered that he had told me so much, and that I was prone to doubtfulness, his foolish pride assumed the task the old vintage had commenced, and so he unearthed written evidence in the form of musty manuscript, and dry official records of the British Colonial Office to support many of the salient features of his remarkable narrative.

Here are the first two paragraphs of The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins, a book published in 2010 and marketed to "young adults" of all ages.

When I wake up the other side of the bed is cold.  My fingers stretch out, seeking Prim's warmth, but finding only the rough canvas cover of the mattress.  She must have had bad dreams and climbed in with our mother.  Of course, she did. This is the day of the reaping.

I prop myself up on one elbow.  There's enough light in the room to see them.  My little sister, Prim, curled up on her side, cocooned in my mother's body, their cheeks pressed together.  In sleep, my mother looks younger, still worn, but no so beaten down.  Prim's face is as fresh as a raindrop, as lovely as the primrose for which she was named.  My mother was very beautiful once, too.  Or so they tell me.

—David

Self and Others

This is more an observation than a rebut to the article linked by David in the previous post.

Will Self says that “the supposedly difficult language” he uses in his stories and novels “seems to have become more and more offensive to readers.” It’s not the language that’s offensive, guv'nor. It’s the attitude, if you know what I mean. I'll spell it out for you. When you use a word like “milt” you’re saying: I know this word and you don’t, and you should know it because it’s good for you, and if you’re too lazy to look it up, then I’m not interested in trying to communicate with you. The proper response to that kind of arrogance is an Anglo-Saxon expletive followed by “you.” Writing is an act of communication with a reader, so damn right we’re offended when we find that you’re actually masturbating for our apparent entertainment and edification.

Of course Self is right about the richness of English vocabulary. And thanks to modern technology, perhaps there are ways to bring its more arcane elements back into play. Since World War II, there have been continuing official moves here in Japan to limit or abolish Chinese characters in the interests of effective communication. But today, thanks to technology (type in word, out come its kanjis) there are more obscure Chinese characters being used than ever.

So don’t be a wanker, Will. If you write stuff like

I'd observe that English, being a mishmash of several different languages, had a large and exciting vocabulary, and that it seemed a shame not to use it - especially given that it went on growing all the time, spawning argot and specialist terminology as freely as an oyster does its milt.

and you want us to understand, enjoy and learn, give us a click-through definition.

--Julian

Thank You, Will Self

In the literary world, books intended for child readers are repackaged and sold to kidult ones, while even notionally highbrow arbiters - such as Booker judges - are obsessed by that nauseous confection "a jolly good read". That Shakespeare remains our national writer is, frankly, bizarre, given that with his recondite vocabulary, myriad historical references, and convoluted metaphorical language, were he to be seeking publication in the current milieu, his sonnets and plays would undoubtedly also be branded as 'too difficult'.

Read the whole thing here.

I'm looking forward to Julian's rebuttal in the comments.

—David

Pastoral

NC Tate

Should Have Stuck to Skating

The five stories that constitute Hans Brinckmann's "The Tomb in the Kyoto Hills" are all competent. The prose seldom obtrudes on the reader's consciousness; the characters are sometimes slightly implausible, but never enough to be awful. The focus on men at loose ends, and the manner in which women exist in some of the stories primarily as vehicles to aid men in their quest for whatever it is they're questing for, is tiresome, but not unusual. If the author displayed a sensibility that was profound or a vision of life that was startling and fresh, his stories might transcend mere competence, but unfortunately, though Brinckmann is neither insensitive nor dim, one sees little evidence in these stories of superlative sensibility or insight.

That's from my review of The Tomb in the Kyoto Hills by Hans Brinckmann.  Read the rest here.

—David

Spurn Point

- NC Tate

Birthday

 

—David

The Map is Not the Territory

—David

At the Castle

�\David

Murder in the Red Chamber

Anthony West has called "Dream of the Red Chamber," a Chinese novel written in the 18th century, "beyond question one of the great novels of all literature," and many eminent scholars and critics have agreed with him. That being the case, one feels one really should read it. Many will hesitate, though, before committing themselves to David Hawkes' five-volume translation — as excellent as that translation is reputed to be. They might turn instead to Chi-Chen Wang's much shorter abridged version, and, as Arthur Waley has written, "in Wang's hands [they] will be perfectly safe." If, however, even a safely abridged version of a novel that is, after all, from a very different time and place seems daunting, there is now another port of entry: Taku Ashibe's "Murder in the Red Chamber."

That's from my review of Taku Ashibe's Murder in the Red Chamber.  Read the rest here.

—David