I hate them, now. Cause I'm reading IJ for the fourth fricking time. And I'm a little clever. That guy's rep must be...beyond reproach. Beyond beyond. Because if I showed anybody anything like that, they'd be like "You wanna do what? Have you been drinking? bwah ha ha.Good one."

The version of Ivanhoe I'm reading has only the notes of Scott himself -- 2 versions. (First as "Laurence Templeton", from the 1/e, and 2nd from when he re-published an edition in 1830.) I do wish it had more notes, because a lot of the medieval terms are unfamiliar, and I have only the vaguest, most conspiracy-theory-laden idea of what the Knights Templar actually were.

I'm one who has to listen to Shakespeare to "get it" properly. This is true 80% of the time with any poetry, and about 40% of the time where prose involves complex sentence structures.

I wouldn't say this, exactly, because I do prefer to read Shakespeare. Or read, then hear, at any rate. But when I do, I often notice that I'm sort of reading-aloud-in-my-head, if that makes any sense.

Nutty, Knights Templar. It's a bit self-congratulatory, but ought to give you some idea.

Ivanhoe's an interesting example of the influence some of these works can have beyond the quality of the narrative. It isn't necessarily the greatest thing to come down the pike but, beyond the already mentioned effect on literature that followed, the wealthy ante-bellum South was apparently obsessed with it, and it's very interesting to look at the socioeconomic norms of that time/group through that lens.

Well, what's wrong with a cerebral tickle?

Nothing, except that I don't get it. That wasn't a value judgement or a knock; it was a way of expressing bewilderment. I have never once curled up at someone's knee, having been drawn there by "Once upon a time..." and tried comparing the story to someone else's, or tried to wrap my intellect around it. Saying it again: my entire sense of creativity gets queasy if I go there. So I don't, not ever.

Shakespeare, I have the same completely visceral reaction to that I have to Joyce, only much stronger. The St. Crispin speech makes me cry - it's sheer joy of the words. If I wanted to be cerebral about it, I could tear the speech apart, the historian in me could be disgusted at the jingoism of it, the rationalist in me would be appalled at the baseness of Henry's motives, and I would no longer enjoy the speech.

Fuck that. I'd rather enjoy the speech. I don't give a shit why it makes me cry - that's a completely visceral reaction. I do not deconstruct my mantras, or my magic spells, because I'd like to continue to enjoy them.

That's why you never, ever, ever see me in the music threads.

Whee! The Knights Templar! Sorry, conspiracy theory fetishist here.

I've noticed that translation version have a huge impact on a story--duh. There's a Chekov play, "The Brute." The first version I read was very turgid, very--dare I say--Russian. For some reason I decided to read another version--and I found myself giggling over it. The language was still formal in places, but I think the translator erred on the side of modernizing sentence structure in places. It's damned funny.

I avoided most of the classic books one gets in high school, though count me in on the side of Shakespeare, especially once I started understanding hte slang. I've even kept all my old college lit books as a cheap source of poetry.

One thing that's guaranteed to get you stared at on the bus is to have "The Odyssey" open in front of you and you're snickering at the good parts. Someone asked, "What class are you reading that for?" I said, "Oh, I'm just reading it." The other person actually leaned away a little.

Good lord, people. Moby-Dick is the greatest novel in the English language not just because it's so goddamn funny and entertaining, but because it's profoundly affecting, too. Just because you find something difficult at first, you shouldn't decide that it's not worth it. If we all approached life that way, none of us would be able to tie our shoes or ride bicycles. I can understand not liking or getting Faulkner or Pynchon (although I can't condone giving up after failing to understand his writing in college), but it's absolutely ridiculous to give up on Moby-Dick. What's not to love?

And what's with the anti-intellectual bent in this thread? This is the second time in less than a month that I've found people complaining about great literature because it's hard. No kidding. Art is sometimes unamusing, too, and some music is kind of off-putting. I guess that means we should just give up and only surround ourselves with things that comfort us.

Anyway, canon exists because literate people generally agree that those particular works represent the best of literature. No other reason, and usually no ulterior motives. Like David said, sometimes authors fall off the list and sometimes authors are added because of new understanding and new trends. Some of this has to do with creating a common language for literate people. Some of this has to do with common appreciation based on understanding certain rules. Personally, I enjoy literature on several levels: the visceral level of language & pleasure that Deb champions; the historical-philosophical level of enjoying the ideas and the way that the author opens a certain time and place; the analytical level of understanding the choices of syntax and the game-rules that the author employs; and the contextual level of this work, this author, this culture. I'm sure there's more, but those leapt immediately to mind.

Juliana: I'm glad to read that you're enjoying Gravity's Rainbow. I took a break about 100 pages in to re-read Mason & Dixon. GR was just exhausting me this time around, but I'm convinced that it's only the super-small type in my edition.

t pulled down the college lit book with the good version of "The Brute," am reading it aloud and laughing.

Just because you find something difficult at first, you shouldn't decide that it's not worth it.

You do every difficult thing that comes your way, or do you pick and choose?