This pillar of Western literature, considered by many to be the first English novel, left me ambivalent and uncomfortable. Its antiquated mores clash with modern perspective, but not just because of quaint antiquity: Defoe’s Puritanical self-assuredness and cultural ignorance (resulting in subjugation) seem ominous in light of present-day conflicts.

Is it a fun read? Sure, most of the time. Defoe’s meticulous discussions of castaway lifestyle are captivating, if telescoped (a few paragraphs often represent years of island isolation for Crusoe). But because this is a masterful work, and does carry with it a serious message, thus passages about literal survival are interrupted by multi-page religious epiphanies as Crusoe faces his eternal survival.

Crusoe’s is a colonial white man’s world. There is not a single real female character in the entire story. Anyone not European is a savage, meant for enslavement. Defoe’s proud intolerance is not uncommon for the time, but paralleled with his relatively unsmiling Puritan tenets, it can feel downright grim. What is left unanswered for me is whether Defoe was aware of this hubris, whether it’s a trick on the reader that Crusoe is so blithely superior, that I’m the fool for not understanding that he was winking the whole time.

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Tags: 18th century, Books, british, classic, fiction, literature, reading, review

I like Twain as quote-worthy curmudgeon. I like his cynical way of writing. But, alas, I don’t really like Tom Sawyer.

It’s a melodrama that, while purporting to narrate Tom’s story and take Tom’s side, both condescends to its protagonist and never really gives a sense of motivation. Rascally, sure, mischievous, but why? We see hints of Tom’s conscience from time to time, but the grief he puts his elders through seems nothing short of sociopathic at times.

Intriguingly, this story reads like a play. Give this some thought as you read the book. Scenes are clear-cut, action relatively confined in space, and entrances and exits highlighted (over fences, into caves, etc.).

What is appealing to me is the treatment of absolutely non-children’s issues in the novel. Widow Douglas is absolutely threatened with rape. Murder happens. Racism. The children themselves act much more grown up than the preadolescents I know today–able to cook for themselves, boat, sleep in the open, drink and smoke–enough that I spent a lot of the time wondering just how old Tom was supposed to be. At times he seemed seven, at times fifteen.

This early wending into adulthood reminds that this bucolic drama is not entirely innocent: it deals with heavy topics; it takes place in a wilder time. It’s an important document of Americana, just don’t ask me to enjoy it too much.

Tags: 19th century, american, fiction, literature, novel

Tags: 21st century, ireland, irish, literature, thriller