"Classic" Novels

Every person who has taken a literature course, been in a book club or visited a library probably knows the degree of awe that the mere uttering of the word “classics” produces. It’s very likely that at least once in your life either your parents or teachers have told you that you should stop reading so many bad contemporary novels or spending so much time on the computer and start reading some classics. Maybe a librarian or a friend recommended you to read some more 19th century classics. Or maybe you have applied or are planning to apply for an English degree and your counselor told you to include some classics in your personal statement. It seems surprising to me thus how most people simply accept what older generations have deemed “real literature” without trying to analyze what made them choose those books and not others. Why, for example, would it be more important for a book to “stand the test of time” than to approach contemporary issues, issues that readers could easily relate with?

It is interesting to make an attempt at a socio-political history of the term “classic” and its implication. The earliest use of the word (which derives from the Latin adjective “classicus” meaning of a higher class of citizens) in relation to literature dates back to a little known second century Roman writer called Aulus Gellius. In his book “Attic Nights” (or “Noctes Atticae”) he refers to “a distinguished, not a commonplace writer” (“classicus scriptor, non proletarius”). However, we know that the Greeks only admitted in the Alexandrian Library “canonical” books (the word “canon” comes from Ancient Greek “kanón” meaning measuring rod or standard). Until after the 14th century, the term “classic” was reserved solely to works by Ancient Greek and Roman writers because Latin and Greek were considered the only medium for scientific and cultural exchange. In many ways, the book that redefined the word “classic” was the Bible. Although writers had been writing in their native tongue earlier (notable examples would be Dante’s “La Divina Commedia” and Chaucer’s “The Cantebury Tales”), the 16th century Protestant Reformation with its strong emphasis on the need to read the Bible made people look at non-classical languages in a different way. It suddenly became possible not only to read the Bible in French, Italian or English, but to understand it better than in its Latin or Greek version. This meant in turn that it is possible to create great works of art or transmit great knowledge in languages other than the classic ones.

Now that I’ve bored you with a tedious introduction, I will jump to the recommendations I had with the promise that I will come back to the question of what influenced the notion of “classics” in another article. In an effort to stay away from books that are typically labeled classics, I am going to try to recommend books that were written in languages other that English and that reflect non-English cultural phenomena (in other, less fancy words, books whose aesthetic value has not been hammered into your brain since you were in middle school). In this week’s article I want to introduce you to some works of German literature that you’ll probably enjoy. They're not aimed at super-bookworm-y persons who have probably read everything Mann's ever written, but at ordinary not-so-experienced-with-literature readers. For that matter, I don't believe that proclaiming yourself "a book worm" or having read a lot of books makes you a better or worse reader, just a slightly more experienced one. So without any further ado:

The Sorrows of Young Werther, Wolfgang von Goethe

Rather cliché (Goethe himself came to hate it with a burning passion later on in his life especially because it was immensely popular among youngsters), but I think it's a wonderful way to introduce German literature to a young person. I also think everybody, not just young adults should read morally endangering literature. Werther makes you think and question yourself and your values in a way that Salinger’s immense popularity no longer allows us to think. If you’re one of those persons who just has to know what a book is about before they read it, this book is about love and teenage angst and misery and art and all the great experiences of life. Approach it with an open mind, but don’t let yourself take it too seriously, despite Goethe's best efforts to discourage the practice, committing suicide a la Werther was a pretty popular trend in 18th century Germany.

Siddharta, Hermann Hesse

If your parents were hippies, they’ll probably have a lot of (possibly wonderful) things to tell you about this book. Hesse was somewhat widely read in the US during the 60s, but few high-schoolers read it now because its depiction of drugs and sex, the association with the 1960s counterculture and the fact that Hesse didn’t write in English didn't make him very popular with school boards. Nonetheless, Hesse is a wonderful writer. If this is your first experience with him, prepare yourself to be enchanted by a beautiful writing style and engaged by the little bits of Eastern philosophy Hesse insert now and again in his work. If you’ve already read this novel, recommend it to your friends and read it again (look into Hesse’s other books, too). My mom and I have been reading it together every winter for the past three years and each time we find something new to discuss.

Duino Elegies, Rainer Maria Rilke

When was the last time you read a poetry book that wasn’t required reading, an anthology or Shakespeare? I think that we read far less poetry than we should these days. I suppose it might have something to do with the fact that we’re always on the run, but I blame how story-oriented our culture has become too. Tv shows and novels have taught us that everything should have a story and if the story isn’t engaging enough we’ll just change the channel or throw away the book. I’m going to try to change that by introducing you to one of literature’s more amazing poets – Rainer Maria Rilke. It’s fairly possible that you’ve heard him being mentioned in relation with Lady Gaga, but the connections between the two are negligible. In the January 1912, Rilke made a try to castle Duino just outside Trieste. At the time he was battling depression, but while walking along the cliffs the words “who, if I cried out, would hear me among the Angelic Orders?” suddenly came to him. He wrote frantically during the rest of his stay at the castle Duino, but because of recurring depressive episodes, he only managed to complete the volume after the war in 1922. I have told you this story to show you why my understanding of the elegies is twofold and why I think it’s so important to read them. They are first and foremost a collection of very pertinent question regarding what defines our existence, but they are also an intimate proclamation of independence from the misery of life (in Rilke’s case depression and the First World War). Rilke shows us how great things - great works of art, enlightenment can come from pain. Perhaps the last four verses of the book speak for themselves: “and we, who think of ascending/ joy, would feel the emotion,/ that almost dismays us,/ when a joyful thing falls.” Just a word of advice regarding the translation: I’ve heard a lot of people say that the Stephen Mitchell one is the best available.

The Life and Opinions of the Tomcat Murr, E.T.A. Hoffman

How can you not want to read a book with such an awesome title? Yes, this is the autobiography of a bourgeois cat. The thing is that because of mistake of the printer, fragments of the (considerably less interesting) biography of a slightly byronic composer named Kreisler got mixed in between Murr’s biography. In a good translation (i.e. the most recent translation you can find), it reads like a very modern engaging novel. I think the book raises above the status of a mere satire of society through its wonderful ingenuity, but of course, if you want to, you can read it as one too. As long as you're having fun, both Hoffman and I have achieved our mission. After three books about angst and enlightenment, I wanted to suggest something more easy-going. Literature doesn’t always have to ask the most serious questions in the most serious manner possible, reading should be something you do simply to enjoy yourself too.

Death in Venice, Thomas Mann

I’ve often been appalled by the multitude of books on same-sex relationships that are weepy, melodramatic and horribly written because their sole purpose is to show just how horrible not being straight in today’s society is. One of the things I love about “Death in Venice” is the way it completely disregards the fact that the male protagonist is in love with another member of the male gender and focuses entirely on way people fall in love itself. But, I’m getting ahead of myself because the premise of “Death in Venice” is a bit more complicated. Because I think with books like these, it’s better to get over the basic plot as soon as possible so that you can concentrate on the story, in a nutshell “Death in Venice” is about a renown writer who goes on holiday in Venice where he falls in love with a young Polish boy. I’ll leave you five minutes to get over how paedophilia is disgusting~.

Now that you’re ready to appreciate Mann’s genius without getting too caught up on ethics, I’ll also tell you that the novella is based on the dichotomy between Apollo, the Greek god of the sun, but also of the reason and intellect and Dionysus, who is his opposite, the god of wine and passion. The theory that the struggle between Dionysian and the Apollonian as the basic principle of tragedy (and literary works in general) was first formulated by Nietzsche in “The Birth of Tragedy” and it inspired a new way to write and understand literature.

Apollonian characters are driven by reason, self-controlled and cherish culture and civilization (so they’re quite big fans of classics), whereas Dionysian characters are passionate and instinctual, they they celebrate life as a work of art instead of wasting time passing value judgments on still lives. Regardless of what you choose to be, "Death in Venice" should prompt you to read literature a bit different. I secretly hope that I have managed to do the same albeit much clumsily and that from now on your perception of the classics will be slightly less biased.