Extollager
Well-Known Member
- Joined
- Aug 21, 2010
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Here is a place for people who know Smith's work better than I do to make the case for (or against) Smith as having written literature.
This really means that one must make the case that at least one of Smith's stories qualifies as literature rather than subliterature. Remarks about Smith in general, his having a large vocabulary or having been influential or appreciated by Lovecraft would all be beside the point. I mentioned Smith because I was thinking of "Rappaccini's Daughter" as having a plot that could have fit Weird Tales, but only Smith, of the authors I know of who wrote a lot for that magazine, would have touched that plot: because the girl is innocent. If Howard had written the story, she'd have been or have become a depraved creature; and Lovecraft wouldn't have touched that plot to save his life, a plot about romantic love, trust, etc.; it would have been beyond his powers, and perhaps he wouldn't even have been able to enjoy reading Hawthorne's masterly treatment -- at least I'm not aware offhand of his ever, anywhere, having revealed the capacity to enjoy a love story, which is what Hawthorne's story is although that's not all it is. I think Smith might have been able to write a story with the plot, but he'd have played up the weirdness for all it was worth and probably have fallen short with the exploration of romantic agony felt by the young man, etc. But who knows?
Elsewhere I posted the comments below on literature vs. subliterature. They might help us to get off to a focused start, but I don't need to be told they are not the last word on the subject!
It really is legitimate to make a distinction between literature and what is sometimes called subliterature, and this is objective, not simply a matter of purely subjective preference.
Literature invites, rewards, and sometimes requires sustained attention from readers. Subliterature works best for casual reading. Both may provide enjoyment.
As an example of subliterature, take one of my favorite stories, Conan Doyle's "The Speckled Band." I couldn't tell you how many times I have read this story, always with enjoyment. I'll assume everyone here has read it. If not, please read it before commenting on my comment -- you are in for a fun read!
"The Speckled Band" provides enjoyment, but that enjoyment (except possible enjoyment at its expense) depends on a relaxed, even casual approach, as if often the case with "Gothic" writing. Is there anyone here who has read it who did not enjoy it? I will assume that to have read it is to have enjoyed it. It's really fun to read.
If, however, I pay attention to some pretty obvious details, the story is revealed as seriously flawed. The whole thing depends on the application of pure reason (supplied by Holmes so that the mystery is solved). Yet that same rational faculty reveals the key idea as next to impossible.
We must accept the idea that Roylott has trained a poisonous snake to go through the ventilator in the wall, and to descend into the next room by writhing itself around a dummy bell-pull. It must then slide over the nearby sleeper's pillow and, while she is motionless (offering the reptile no reason to attack), bite her, injecting its fatal venom. (The sleeper must not wake up when the snake first touches her.) The snake must then immediately and rapidly turn around, slide up the dummy bell-pull and slip through the ventilator, and allow itself to be returned to the safe in which it normally lives its life. Moreover, it is necessary that the young woman sleeping in the fatal room must never have noticed that her bed has been bolted to the floor or, if she does notice, she must brush off the mystery as to why such a bizarre thing would have been done or must be satisfied with some absurd "explanation" if she does ask why. She must not ask why the bell-pull is there when it rings no bell, or she must be satisfied with some dubious explanation.
Doyle was, as it were, counting on his reader to read casually and not notice problems such as these. Or perhaps he may have hoped that if any reader did notice these problems, the reader would indulge him, good-naturedly -- but I doubt he thought of it that way.
So subliterature and literature may both offer enjoyment, and some readers never want more than the enjoyment provided by reading, casually, stories that may be read thus.
Other readers may enjoy subliterature but also want to read things, sometimes, that invite a greater degree of attention. This attention may include not only attention to plot details but sensitivity to the sounds and shades of meanings of words, a degree of background knowledge that might not be held by everyone (so as to recognize allusions, etc.), and so on.
Take Hawthorne's story "Rappaccini's Daughter," which I hope everyone has read or will read. The plot reminds me of something Clark Ashton Smith might have written up, placing the story on some weird planet or in Earth's distant past or future. A very intelligent elderly man possesses an unparalleled knowledge of poisonous plants. He has a young daughter (who was the mother?), who has grown up, from infancy, around the plants, breathing the poisonous fragrances they emit and becoming adjusted to them and like them -- gorgeously beautiful, but deadly to be touched. A young man looks into the garden and sees this entrancing female, and he becomes obsessed by her beauty and the desire to get close to her. The housekeeper takes money from the young man and admits him into the garden, where he talks with the young woman, who has never known a young man before and feels her love for him awaken. He is troubled by the way her presence seems to cause death and decides to conduct an experiment that will reveal whether she is a monster or not.
The story would lend itself to straight-out pulp treatment; it could easily have appeared in Weird Tales. But I find that, when I give the story close attention to detail, language, theme, etc., it rewards me more than pulp does. The story is, if you like, an unbelievable fantasy, but it deals with experiences of trust, of infatuation vs. love, of parental protectiveness and the need of children to be allowed to take appropriate risks, the peril of building false assumptions into supposedly fair and objective scientific experiments, and so on. It seems to me both a first-rate weird fantasy and also an expression of wisdom. It's not that I'm supposed to extract some moral from the story and forget the story. Rather the moral element, whether or not I take it with me after reading, is an enhancement of the imaginative experience as I read. I'm rewarded for being alert and thoughtful. This is a real work of literature and I love it.
I hope my argument is clear and convincing as to why a distinction between literature and non-literature is useful and real, and not merely some kind of effort by resented but unnamed "snobs" to make people feel inferior.
An analogy about reading might help, though nothing will help if someone reads this comment with a hostile attitude. Any time you're healthy but hungry and you eat a decent meal you feel enjoyment. Sometimes you are on a road trip and you want to grab some fast food and keep driving. But sometimes you want something that rewards your attention more. You take your spouse out to dinner on your anniversary and that doesn't call for a burger and fries at McDonald's. The food takes a while to prepare and a while to eat and happy conversation is part of the experience, and maybe a little exhilaration from good wine, etc. You both know how to enjoy that good wine as something to be savored and not just to "wash down" a big lump of food in your throats. And 20 years later you and your spouse still remember that meal, and maybe one of you even writes a poem about it. It was a good experience at the time and it's a good memory, one of the innumerable things that has bound you close to your spouse.
The distinction between literature and subliterature is a real one and it's not, in essence, in the least a matter of snobbery.
I would say that, in fact, this distinction may actually work against snobbery, because reading and enjoying literature requires or develops a kind of humility, a willingness to sit still, pay attention, put away our phones, etc. Sometimes we might have to admit that some literary work may be good or might not be, but we're not able to say. I remember that when I first read Hemingway, with his boiled-down prose, I "didn't get much out of it." The problem was more with me than with "The Old Man at the Bridge." I was used to a writer doing more of the work of explaining meaning for me. Whether or not Hemingway becomes a favorite, whether or not I feel qualified to have much of an opinion about his writing now although I have read more of it, is another matter.
This really means that one must make the case that at least one of Smith's stories qualifies as literature rather than subliterature. Remarks about Smith in general, his having a large vocabulary or having been influential or appreciated by Lovecraft would all be beside the point. I mentioned Smith because I was thinking of "Rappaccini's Daughter" as having a plot that could have fit Weird Tales, but only Smith, of the authors I know of who wrote a lot for that magazine, would have touched that plot: because the girl is innocent. If Howard had written the story, she'd have been or have become a depraved creature; and Lovecraft wouldn't have touched that plot to save his life, a plot about romantic love, trust, etc.; it would have been beyond his powers, and perhaps he wouldn't even have been able to enjoy reading Hawthorne's masterly treatment -- at least I'm not aware offhand of his ever, anywhere, having revealed the capacity to enjoy a love story, which is what Hawthorne's story is although that's not all it is. I think Smith might have been able to write a story with the plot, but he'd have played up the weirdness for all it was worth and probably have fallen short with the exploration of romantic agony felt by the young man, etc. But who knows?
Elsewhere I posted the comments below on literature vs. subliterature. They might help us to get off to a focused start, but I don't need to be told they are not the last word on the subject!
It really is legitimate to make a distinction between literature and what is sometimes called subliterature, and this is objective, not simply a matter of purely subjective preference.
Literature invites, rewards, and sometimes requires sustained attention from readers. Subliterature works best for casual reading. Both may provide enjoyment.
As an example of subliterature, take one of my favorite stories, Conan Doyle's "The Speckled Band." I couldn't tell you how many times I have read this story, always with enjoyment. I'll assume everyone here has read it. If not, please read it before commenting on my comment -- you are in for a fun read!
"The Speckled Band" provides enjoyment, but that enjoyment (except possible enjoyment at its expense) depends on a relaxed, even casual approach, as if often the case with "Gothic" writing. Is there anyone here who has read it who did not enjoy it? I will assume that to have read it is to have enjoyed it. It's really fun to read.
If, however, I pay attention to some pretty obvious details, the story is revealed as seriously flawed. The whole thing depends on the application of pure reason (supplied by Holmes so that the mystery is solved). Yet that same rational faculty reveals the key idea as next to impossible.
We must accept the idea that Roylott has trained a poisonous snake to go through the ventilator in the wall, and to descend into the next room by writhing itself around a dummy bell-pull. It must then slide over the nearby sleeper's pillow and, while she is motionless (offering the reptile no reason to attack), bite her, injecting its fatal venom. (The sleeper must not wake up when the snake first touches her.) The snake must then immediately and rapidly turn around, slide up the dummy bell-pull and slip through the ventilator, and allow itself to be returned to the safe in which it normally lives its life. Moreover, it is necessary that the young woman sleeping in the fatal room must never have noticed that her bed has been bolted to the floor or, if she does notice, she must brush off the mystery as to why such a bizarre thing would have been done or must be satisfied with some absurd "explanation" if she does ask why. She must not ask why the bell-pull is there when it rings no bell, or she must be satisfied with some dubious explanation.
Doyle was, as it were, counting on his reader to read casually and not notice problems such as these. Or perhaps he may have hoped that if any reader did notice these problems, the reader would indulge him, good-naturedly -- but I doubt he thought of it that way.
So subliterature and literature may both offer enjoyment, and some readers never want more than the enjoyment provided by reading, casually, stories that may be read thus.
Other readers may enjoy subliterature but also want to read things, sometimes, that invite a greater degree of attention. This attention may include not only attention to plot details but sensitivity to the sounds and shades of meanings of words, a degree of background knowledge that might not be held by everyone (so as to recognize allusions, etc.), and so on.
Take Hawthorne's story "Rappaccini's Daughter," which I hope everyone has read or will read. The plot reminds me of something Clark Ashton Smith might have written up, placing the story on some weird planet or in Earth's distant past or future. A very intelligent elderly man possesses an unparalleled knowledge of poisonous plants. He has a young daughter (who was the mother?), who has grown up, from infancy, around the plants, breathing the poisonous fragrances they emit and becoming adjusted to them and like them -- gorgeously beautiful, but deadly to be touched. A young man looks into the garden and sees this entrancing female, and he becomes obsessed by her beauty and the desire to get close to her. The housekeeper takes money from the young man and admits him into the garden, where he talks with the young woman, who has never known a young man before and feels her love for him awaken. He is troubled by the way her presence seems to cause death and decides to conduct an experiment that will reveal whether she is a monster or not.
The story would lend itself to straight-out pulp treatment; it could easily have appeared in Weird Tales. But I find that, when I give the story close attention to detail, language, theme, etc., it rewards me more than pulp does. The story is, if you like, an unbelievable fantasy, but it deals with experiences of trust, of infatuation vs. love, of parental protectiveness and the need of children to be allowed to take appropriate risks, the peril of building false assumptions into supposedly fair and objective scientific experiments, and so on. It seems to me both a first-rate weird fantasy and also an expression of wisdom. It's not that I'm supposed to extract some moral from the story and forget the story. Rather the moral element, whether or not I take it with me after reading, is an enhancement of the imaginative experience as I read. I'm rewarded for being alert and thoughtful. This is a real work of literature and I love it.
I hope my argument is clear and convincing as to why a distinction between literature and non-literature is useful and real, and not merely some kind of effort by resented but unnamed "snobs" to make people feel inferior.
An analogy about reading might help, though nothing will help if someone reads this comment with a hostile attitude. Any time you're healthy but hungry and you eat a decent meal you feel enjoyment. Sometimes you are on a road trip and you want to grab some fast food and keep driving. But sometimes you want something that rewards your attention more. You take your spouse out to dinner on your anniversary and that doesn't call for a burger and fries at McDonald's. The food takes a while to prepare and a while to eat and happy conversation is part of the experience, and maybe a little exhilaration from good wine, etc. You both know how to enjoy that good wine as something to be savored and not just to "wash down" a big lump of food in your throats. And 20 years later you and your spouse still remember that meal, and maybe one of you even writes a poem about it. It was a good experience at the time and it's a good memory, one of the innumerable things that has bound you close to your spouse.
The distinction between literature and subliterature is a real one and it's not, in essence, in the least a matter of snobbery.
I would say that, in fact, this distinction may actually work against snobbery, because reading and enjoying literature requires or develops a kind of humility, a willingness to sit still, pay attention, put away our phones, etc. Sometimes we might have to admit that some literary work may be good or might not be, but we're not able to say. I remember that when I first read Hemingway, with his boiled-down prose, I "didn't get much out of it." The problem was more with me than with "The Old Man at the Bridge." I was used to a writer doing more of the work of explaining meaning for me. Whether or not Hemingway becomes a favorite, whether or not I feel qualified to have much of an opinion about his writing now although I have read more of it, is another matter.
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