Tournament of Books Long List--Where is Tolstoy?
Here
Which leads me to some thoughts. Of the making of lists there is seemingly no end. And I would not wish for an end. It is in the reticulation, the warp and the weft of multiple lists that I often dredge up the finest things to read. But even reading some of these very fine things, I'm left with a kind of questioning longing--where is our new Tolstoy, Shakespeare, Joyce, Conrad, James. No--I'm not looking for a replica, I'm not looking for anyone whose style is similar or who rights on similar themes. I'm looking really for the best of the best--the works that in our present foreshortened judgment constitute lasting work.
I enjoy reading. I don't always have to read the very best of the very best. I like to read some bad books--things no self-respecting admirer of literature would be caught dead with. I'm a reader, not a classicist (in a very bowdlerized sense of that word--substitue the snootier sounding "literateur"). But I do long for that electric shock of realizing that you're in the hands of a real artist, that what you're holding in your hands resounds beyond the present day--in the parlance of some--that it has legs.
In my year of reading, I haven't found that. In truth, I haven't found it in many years of reading. I've read some very capable writers--some marvelous writers--but sustainability--longevity, concerns that transcend the here and now even while dealing with the here and now--that quality in a writer is rare--not easily found. But I'm willing to listen if you all have found the next Shakespeare--heck, at this point I'd take the next Richard Crashaw or Samuel Richardson.
Which leads me to some thoughts. Of the making of lists there is seemingly no end. And I would not wish for an end. It is in the reticulation, the warp and the weft of multiple lists that I often dredge up the finest things to read. But even reading some of these very fine things, I'm left with a kind of questioning longing--where is our new Tolstoy, Shakespeare, Joyce, Conrad, James. No--I'm not looking for a replica, I'm not looking for anyone whose style is similar or who rights on similar themes. I'm looking really for the best of the best--the works that in our present foreshortened judgment constitute lasting work.
I enjoy reading. I don't always have to read the very best of the very best. I like to read some bad books--things no self-respecting admirer of literature would be caught dead with. I'm a reader, not a classicist (in a very bowdlerized sense of that word--substitue the snootier sounding "literateur"). But I do long for that electric shock of realizing that you're in the hands of a real artist, that what you're holding in your hands resounds beyond the present day--in the parlance of some--that it has legs.
In my year of reading, I haven't found that. In truth, I haven't found it in many years of reading. I've read some very capable writers--some marvelous writers--but sustainability--longevity, concerns that transcend the here and now even while dealing with the here and now--that quality in a writer is rare--not easily found. But I'm willing to listen if you all have found the next Shakespeare--heck, at this point I'd take the next Richard Crashaw or Samuel Richardson.
Comments
Post a Comment