1961, possibly first edition, from McGraw-Hill
Mark Schorer
Sinclair Lewis: An American Life
Original price unknown, purchase price $8.95
Worn hardcover with stains
B-
Schorer spent nine years researching and writing this 800+-page book, and he clearly remained interested in Lewis, since some of the editions I own of Lewis novels have Schorer afterwords. But I have to ask, why? Why meticulously recount, for instance, Lewis's travel itineraries if you're just going to sum up with "He was one of the worst writers in modern American literature, but without his writing one cannot imagine modern American literature"? I would venture that Lewis had the same effect on Schorer as he did on so many people, a mixture of repulsion and fascination.
As my reviews show, I don't think Lewis was a great writer, but he was sometimes a good one, and certainly not one of the worst. I said in my last (for Kingsblood Royal), "He was a very flawed man and a somewhat flawed writer, but I'm glad I own so many of his books." My image of him as flawed comes from this book, so I don't totally disagree with Schorer. Lewis was a lonely, awkward boy who grew up to be a lonely, awkward man. He slowly drank himself to death and destroyed almost all his relationships, including with his sons. And Schorer does point out the flaws in Lewis's writing, most hilariously on the weakest novels and short stories, the ones I haven't read. There's not much positive here, but then there wasn't much positive in Lewis's life, prizes and acclaim aside.
But nine years, really? Was it worth it? Well, Wikipedia lists this as Schorer's most famous work, so I suppose it was. Richard R. Lingeman's Sinclair Lewis: Rebel From Main Street (2002), which I've read once and don't own, presents a heroic Lewis who is almost unrecognizable compared to Schorer's Lewis. But then, Lingeman was writing four long decades later, when Lewis and his world were much more distant, as compared to Schorer who started this biography soon after Lewis died and was able to speak with his ex-wives and other people Lewis knew.
Showing posts with label Lewis. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Lewis. Show all posts
Saturday, June 30, 2012
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Kingsblood Royal
1947, original Random House edition
Sinclair Lewis
Kingsblood Royal
Original price unknown, purchase price $4.95
Falling apart hardcover
B-
Although more horrible things happen in this book than in Cass Timberlane, including a couple and their friends arrested for defending their home from a mob, I find it a more pleasant and more hopeful book. Lewis takes a nice but bigoted young man-- a veteran, husband, father, and banker-- and shows how his world is turned upside-down when he finds out he has "black blood." His ancestor was an admirable pioneer, who happened to be a Negro. (Pace, George Carlin.) Neil Kingsblood's father thinks that the family is descended from Catherine of Aragon, but Neil's amateur explorations in genealogy turn up a more dramatic story on his mother's side of the family.
As other online reviews show, this book still has the power to startle, that Lewis was talking about race 65 years ago. (The year after it was published, Strom Thurmond ran for President as a Dixiecrat.) White critics of the time found the book contrived, which it is, while many black critics found it courageous, which it also is. I would give it a B, but I find the transformation of Neil and his wife Vestal, from owners of a dog named Nigger to the expectant parents of a child they half-jokingly plan to name Booker T., to be too quick and easy.
Also, I'm not sure what the point of Neil's flirtation with Sophie Concord is. In Arrowsmith, Orchid Pickerbaugh is a distraction from Martin's marriage to sloppy saint Leora and from his noble bride Science, but he doesn't let it go too far. Sophie seems to be here to assure readers that if Vestal leaves him, as her family and most people in town urge, Neil won't be alone. And he also has surrogate parents and dear friends in the black community by the end, making up for all the white associates he loses. (A few loyal whites, including Vestal, stick by him.)
The story is set in the same world as Timberlane, picking up at roughly the time that novel ended. Indeed, Vestal is friends with Jinny Timberlane. The judge is one of the more tolerant whites, although he doesn't have much impact on the story.
Lewis wrote two more novels after this, but I've never read them. He died in 1951. He was a very flawed man and a somewhat flawed writer, but I'm glad I own so many of his books.
Sinclair Lewis
Kingsblood Royal
Original price unknown, purchase price $4.95
Falling apart hardcover
B-
Although more horrible things happen in this book than in Cass Timberlane, including a couple and their friends arrested for defending their home from a mob, I find it a more pleasant and more hopeful book. Lewis takes a nice but bigoted young man-- a veteran, husband, father, and banker-- and shows how his world is turned upside-down when he finds out he has "black blood." His ancestor was an admirable pioneer, who happened to be a Negro. (Pace, George Carlin.) Neil Kingsblood's father thinks that the family is descended from Catherine of Aragon, but Neil's amateur explorations in genealogy turn up a more dramatic story on his mother's side of the family.
As other online reviews show, this book still has the power to startle, that Lewis was talking about race 65 years ago. (The year after it was published, Strom Thurmond ran for President as a Dixiecrat.) White critics of the time found the book contrived, which it is, while many black critics found it courageous, which it also is. I would give it a B, but I find the transformation of Neil and his wife Vestal, from owners of a dog named Nigger to the expectant parents of a child they half-jokingly plan to name Booker T., to be too quick and easy.
Also, I'm not sure what the point of Neil's flirtation with Sophie Concord is. In Arrowsmith, Orchid Pickerbaugh is a distraction from Martin's marriage to sloppy saint Leora and from his noble bride Science, but he doesn't let it go too far. Sophie seems to be here to assure readers that if Vestal leaves him, as her family and most people in town urge, Neil won't be alone. And he also has surrogate parents and dear friends in the black community by the end, making up for all the white associates he loses. (A few loyal whites, including Vestal, stick by him.)
The story is set in the same world as Timberlane, picking up at roughly the time that novel ended. Indeed, Vestal is friends with Jinny Timberlane. The judge is one of the more tolerant whites, although he doesn't have much impact on the story.
Lewis wrote two more novels after this, but I've never read them. He died in 1951. He was a very flawed man and a somewhat flawed writer, but I'm glad I own so many of his books.
Sunday, May 27, 2012
Cass Timberlane
1945, original Random House edition
Sinclair Lewis
Cass Timberlane: A Novel of Husbands and Wives
Original price unknown, purchase price $4.95
OK condition hardcover
C+
While Tik-Tok of Oz (1914) managed a reference to WW I, this is the first of my books to mention WW II. Not only does the copyright page say, "THIS IS A WARTIME BOOK. The text is complete and unabridged but every effort has been made to comply with the Government's request to conserve essential materials," but the novel is set 1941 to '45. However, the story takes place on the homefront and is more about the Battle of the Sexes. Indeed, with the central story of Cass Timberlane's second marriage, and "An Assemblage of Husbands and Wives" interspersed throughout the book, it presents the bleakest collection of marriages until perhaps The Women's Room (1977).
At this point, Lewis was 60 and his second marriage had broken up. If I remember correctly, he was dating a much younger woman, so it's not too surprising that he matches up 41-year-old Cass with 24-year-old Jinny. And yet, it's the old Dodsworth conflict, not all that different from the Main Street conflict: solid but sensitive man deals with clever, flirtatious wife. (Lewis, as he did in Babbitt, has characters mock Main Street and Sinclair Lewis, here mixed up with Upton Sinclair.) In this novel, the wife has an affair and returns, partly because she knows Cass will take care of her, and she's suffering from diabetes. It's supposed to be a relatively happy ending, with Jinny (and Cass) sadder but wiser, but you know she's going to fall for some other heel within a year.
One of the things I liked about the novel was the list of modern synonyms for "cad" and "bounder." Although Lewis's references to jazz as a new thing feel incredibly dated (after all, Babbitt had jazz in '22), it is interesting to see his continued interest in evolving language. In this book and the other '45 book I own, for the first time "making love" means sex, not just wooing, although for many of the characters there's nothing loving about it.
And it is hard to read of spouses making each other miserable in so many ways. Some are driven to suicide, while others live out their lives of misery. Some belittle their spouses, while others worship them too much. One man is in love with his 15-year-old daughter, another with his "Sweetheart" mother, although he gets a burly male lover after her death. There's not much wife- or husband-beating, since most of the abuse is psychological. There are a few happy couples, but it's implied that they're an endangered species.
Actually, "implied" is the wrong word to use for this book. Everything is very heavy-handed, particularly the connection of Cleo the cat and Isis the figurine to Jinny and her fragile love for Cass. And yet, I liked Cleo and I liked Mrs. Higbee the cook and I liked the houses that Cass and Jinny live in, old and modern. It's a strange story in that I liked the trappings of it, including Grand Republic (a gentler Zenith), but didn't really care for most of the inhabitants. I will say that it is nice to have Lewis show genuine emotion after the dryness of It Can't Happen Here.
Yes, there's a decade between the two novels. He published three novels in the interval, but given these two C+ book-ends, I've never been strongly tempted to read them.
Sinclair Lewis
Cass Timberlane: A Novel of Husbands and Wives
Original price unknown, purchase price $4.95
OK condition hardcover
C+
While Tik-Tok of Oz (1914) managed a reference to WW I, this is the first of my books to mention WW II. Not only does the copyright page say, "THIS IS A WARTIME BOOK. The text is complete and unabridged but every effort has been made to comply with the Government's request to conserve essential materials," but the novel is set 1941 to '45. However, the story takes place on the homefront and is more about the Battle of the Sexes. Indeed, with the central story of Cass Timberlane's second marriage, and "An Assemblage of Husbands and Wives" interspersed throughout the book, it presents the bleakest collection of marriages until perhaps The Women's Room (1977).
At this point, Lewis was 60 and his second marriage had broken up. If I remember correctly, he was dating a much younger woman, so it's not too surprising that he matches up 41-year-old Cass with 24-year-old Jinny. And yet, it's the old Dodsworth conflict, not all that different from the Main Street conflict: solid but sensitive man deals with clever, flirtatious wife. (Lewis, as he did in Babbitt, has characters mock Main Street and Sinclair Lewis, here mixed up with Upton Sinclair.) In this novel, the wife has an affair and returns, partly because she knows Cass will take care of her, and she's suffering from diabetes. It's supposed to be a relatively happy ending, with Jinny (and Cass) sadder but wiser, but you know she's going to fall for some other heel within a year.
One of the things I liked about the novel was the list of modern synonyms for "cad" and "bounder." Although Lewis's references to jazz as a new thing feel incredibly dated (after all, Babbitt had jazz in '22), it is interesting to see his continued interest in evolving language. In this book and the other '45 book I own, for the first time "making love" means sex, not just wooing, although for many of the characters there's nothing loving about it.
And it is hard to read of spouses making each other miserable in so many ways. Some are driven to suicide, while others live out their lives of misery. Some belittle their spouses, while others worship them too much. One man is in love with his 15-year-old daughter, another with his "Sweetheart" mother, although he gets a burly male lover after her death. There's not much wife- or husband-beating, since most of the abuse is psychological. There are a few happy couples, but it's implied that they're an endangered species.
Actually, "implied" is the wrong word to use for this book. Everything is very heavy-handed, particularly the connection of Cleo the cat and Isis the figurine to Jinny and her fragile love for Cass. And yet, I liked Cleo and I liked Mrs. Higbee the cook and I liked the houses that Cass and Jinny live in, old and modern. It's a strange story in that I liked the trappings of it, including Grand Republic (a gentler Zenith), but didn't really care for most of the inhabitants. I will say that it is nice to have Lewis show genuine emotion after the dryness of It Can't Happen Here.
Yes, there's a decade between the two novels. He published three novels in the interval, but given these two C+ book-ends, I've never been strongly tempted to read them.
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
It Can't Happen Here
1935, 1970 Signet edition
Sinclair Lewis
It Can't Happen Here
Original price unknown, bought used for $1.50
Very worn paperback
C+
While Lewis's idea of a very American form of fascism, with a folksy President, is intriguing, and it's fun to see how he imagines everyone from FDR to the Hearst newspaper writers reacting to it, unfortunately this novel contains his worst characterization so far. Even at the most cartoony, like parts of Babbitt, there's always been a sense of real human beings, with plausible thoughts and emotions, inside the caricatures.
To take a small but representative example, the hero Doremus Jessup is supposed to be very fond of his grandson, and yet the grandson does nothing endearing, and acts more like five or six, rather than eight to ten. They have no bonding moments, and all we hear of the lad is that he wants to grow up to be a M.M. (one of the "Minute Men," the thugs the government employs, like a Brown Shirt). Add to that the most lackluster romance of any Lewis novel-- I was more invested in Elmer/Juanita!-- between Doremus and Lorinda, which isn't even brought up till about 100 pages in, and it's hard to believe in any of the relationships or feelings in the book. Only Doremus's elder daughter, Mary, with her suicidal assassination, seemed to have believable emotion, and she of course is crazy with grief.
Doremus's younger daughter, Sissy, flippantly jokes about rape, at the same time that the narrator is reporting rapes of offstage characters. Most of the horrors are offstage, till Doremus and nearly every other "good" male character goes to jail. That part is better done, although of course unpleasant to read.
Lewis, who fifteen years earlier, in Main Street, seemed to realize that homophobia is more dangerous than homosexuality, makes the main villain-- Lee Sarason, the power behind the throne-- a decadent homosexual, and there are some effeminate gay M.M.s earlier.
When I first read this book, during the Reagan 1980s, I thought it could happen here, and it was wonderful to read of someone long ago pointing out the dangers of homegrown fascism. Now I think that while it could hypothetically happen, I think it less and less would happen in this way, particularly with changes in technology, most notably the Internet. In the painfully dated introduction by Jay Richard Kennedy, he says, "Dig it," and wants you to realize how prescient Lewis was. But the days of Huey Long, and those of George Wallace, are long gone. So even if I think, "Hm, 'almost a dwarf, yet with an enormous head, a bloodhound head, of huge ears, pendulous cheeks, mournful eyes....a luminous, ungrudging smile,' sounds a little like Ross Perot," that doesn't mean that I think Perot or any politician is Buzz Windrip.
This novel inspired both a Frank Zappa song and the miniseries V.
Sinclair Lewis
It Can't Happen Here
Original price unknown, bought used for $1.50
Very worn paperback
C+
While Lewis's idea of a very American form of fascism, with a folksy President, is intriguing, and it's fun to see how he imagines everyone from FDR to the Hearst newspaper writers reacting to it, unfortunately this novel contains his worst characterization so far. Even at the most cartoony, like parts of Babbitt, there's always been a sense of real human beings, with plausible thoughts and emotions, inside the caricatures.
To take a small but representative example, the hero Doremus Jessup is supposed to be very fond of his grandson, and yet the grandson does nothing endearing, and acts more like five or six, rather than eight to ten. They have no bonding moments, and all we hear of the lad is that he wants to grow up to be a M.M. (one of the "Minute Men," the thugs the government employs, like a Brown Shirt). Add to that the most lackluster romance of any Lewis novel-- I was more invested in Elmer/Juanita!-- between Doremus and Lorinda, which isn't even brought up till about 100 pages in, and it's hard to believe in any of the relationships or feelings in the book. Only Doremus's elder daughter, Mary, with her suicidal assassination, seemed to have believable emotion, and she of course is crazy with grief.
Doremus's younger daughter, Sissy, flippantly jokes about rape, at the same time that the narrator is reporting rapes of offstage characters. Most of the horrors are offstage, till Doremus and nearly every other "good" male character goes to jail. That part is better done, although of course unpleasant to read.
Lewis, who fifteen years earlier, in Main Street, seemed to realize that homophobia is more dangerous than homosexuality, makes the main villain-- Lee Sarason, the power behind the throne-- a decadent homosexual, and there are some effeminate gay M.M.s earlier.
When I first read this book, during the Reagan 1980s, I thought it could happen here, and it was wonderful to read of someone long ago pointing out the dangers of homegrown fascism. Now I think that while it could hypothetically happen, I think it less and less would happen in this way, particularly with changes in technology, most notably the Internet. In the painfully dated introduction by Jay Richard Kennedy, he says, "Dig it," and wants you to realize how prescient Lewis was. But the days of Huey Long, and those of George Wallace, are long gone. So even if I think, "Hm, 'almost a dwarf, yet with an enormous head, a bloodhound head, of huge ears, pendulous cheeks, mournful eyes....a luminous, ungrudging smile,' sounds a little like Ross Perot," that doesn't mean that I think Perot or any politician is Buzz Windrip.
This novel inspired both a Frank Zappa song and the miniseries V.
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Ann Vickers
1933, 1994 University of Nebraska Press edition
Sinclair Lewis
Ann Vickers
Original price $15.00, bought used for $7.49
Slightly worn paperback
B
This is the first book I own to acknowledge the Great Depression, but that's far from the only bit of realism. The title character (who keeps her maiden name even after marriage) grows from a tomboy to a popular but controversial college student to a suffrage campaigner to a prison reformer to a prison administrator to, well, the ending leaves that a question mark. Along the way, she loves and/or marries a few Mr. Wrongs. She becomes pregnant twice, the first time having an abortion, which she almost immediately regrets, the second time having a child by her lover, the married judge, while being quite honest to her husband that she's only staying married to him so that the baby will have a father. When Barney the judge is sent to prison for taking bribes, Ann ends her marriage and waits for Barney to be free, which he becomes in the last few pages, thanks to another judge, another ex-boyfriend.
Ann is definitely a flawed character, in different ways of course from Martin Arrowsmith. It says a lot that she imagines that the child she doesn't bear during wartime would've been named Pride. It says an equal amount that she thinks the qualities that make Russell a bad husband would make him a good father. To some extent, Ann is more self-aware than other Lewis protagonists, except for maybe Dodsworth, but she does have blind spots. She sees that Barney is the sort of man that she's been rebelling against all her life, but she's devoted to him anyway.
Lewis takes a lot of jabs at radicals in this novel, but I don't think he's any harsher than he was to the Republicans in Babbitt and elsewhere. Much of Ann's disillusionment comes from the contrast of ideals, her own and others', with reality. There are only two sets of villains in this book who are shown with no nuance or complexity. The first of these are, not surprisingly, the people who run Copperhead Prison.
The second set is lesbians. It feels weird to use the "LGBT" label on a book that's so homophobic, but homosexuality, particularly female, keeps coming up so that I can't ignore it. (Then why not retroactively go back and put "African-American" on Pudd'nhead Wilson? Well, I never claimed the labels are all encompassing. Think of them as helpful rather than definitive.) While other Lewis books mention homosexuals, they aren't as significant as they are here. Is this because the main character is female and single?
I think it's more to do with that she's based partly on Lewis's second wife, Dorothy Thompson, who was bisexual. Lewis was uncomfortable with her "romantic friendships," and so he makes Ann recoil from lesbians, whether in college, the New York intellectual scene, or prison. While Ann gets fed up with men sometimes, both politically and romantically, she can see why they are the way they are, and she doesn't even hold much of a grudge against the soldier who seduces and abandons her. But the most horrific relationship in the book is that between Ann's friend Eleanor and Dr. Isabel, who belittles and isolates Eleanor to the point of suicide. Then within hours of the two of them finding Eleanor's dead body, Isabel suggests she and Ann run off to Europe together!
That said, Ann's most significant, though strictly platonic, relationship is with another female doctor. Dr. Malvina helps her with both pregnancies, in two very different ways, stands by her when she stands by Barney, and generally is the good loyal friend.
Apparently, the 1933 movie version, while pre-Code, changes and omits quite a bit, including Ann's marriage to Russell. I think book-Ann would chuckle and then sigh wearily at that.
Sinclair Lewis
Ann Vickers
Original price $15.00, bought used for $7.49
Slightly worn paperback
B
This is the first book I own to acknowledge the Great Depression, but that's far from the only bit of realism. The title character (who keeps her maiden name even after marriage) grows from a tomboy to a popular but controversial college student to a suffrage campaigner to a prison reformer to a prison administrator to, well, the ending leaves that a question mark. Along the way, she loves and/or marries a few Mr. Wrongs. She becomes pregnant twice, the first time having an abortion, which she almost immediately regrets, the second time having a child by her lover, the married judge, while being quite honest to her husband that she's only staying married to him so that the baby will have a father. When Barney the judge is sent to prison for taking bribes, Ann ends her marriage and waits for Barney to be free, which he becomes in the last few pages, thanks to another judge, another ex-boyfriend.
Ann is definitely a flawed character, in different ways of course from Martin Arrowsmith. It says a lot that she imagines that the child she doesn't bear during wartime would've been named Pride. It says an equal amount that she thinks the qualities that make Russell a bad husband would make him a good father. To some extent, Ann is more self-aware than other Lewis protagonists, except for maybe Dodsworth, but she does have blind spots. She sees that Barney is the sort of man that she's been rebelling against all her life, but she's devoted to him anyway.
Lewis takes a lot of jabs at radicals in this novel, but I don't think he's any harsher than he was to the Republicans in Babbitt and elsewhere. Much of Ann's disillusionment comes from the contrast of ideals, her own and others', with reality. There are only two sets of villains in this book who are shown with no nuance or complexity. The first of these are, not surprisingly, the people who run Copperhead Prison.
The second set is lesbians. It feels weird to use the "LGBT" label on a book that's so homophobic, but homosexuality, particularly female, keeps coming up so that I can't ignore it. (Then why not retroactively go back and put "African-American" on Pudd'nhead Wilson? Well, I never claimed the labels are all encompassing. Think of them as helpful rather than definitive.) While other Lewis books mention homosexuals, they aren't as significant as they are here. Is this because the main character is female and single?
I think it's more to do with that she's based partly on Lewis's second wife, Dorothy Thompson, who was bisexual. Lewis was uncomfortable with her "romantic friendships," and so he makes Ann recoil from lesbians, whether in college, the New York intellectual scene, or prison. While Ann gets fed up with men sometimes, both politically and romantically, she can see why they are the way they are, and she doesn't even hold much of a grudge against the soldier who seduces and abandons her. But the most horrific relationship in the book is that between Ann's friend Eleanor and Dr. Isabel, who belittles and isolates Eleanor to the point of suicide. Then within hours of the two of them finding Eleanor's dead body, Isabel suggests she and Ann run off to Europe together!
That said, Ann's most significant, though strictly platonic, relationship is with another female doctor. Dr. Malvina helps her with both pregnancies, in two very different ways, stands by her when she stands by Barney, and generally is the good loyal friend.
Apparently, the 1933 movie version, while pre-Code, changes and omits quite a bit, including Ann's marriage to Russell. I think book-Ann would chuckle and then sigh wearily at that.
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
Dodsworth
1929, 1960 Laurel edition
Sinclair Lewis
Dodsworth
Original price unknown, bought used for $1.50
Poor condition paperback
B-
While the view of upper-middle-class Americans traveling through Europe in the 1920s is interesting, including an early look at both Italian Fascism and a German gay bar, I got tired of the Dodsworths' marriage long before Sam Dodsworth did. Fran is so obviously a spoiled, hypocritical, hypercritical bitch that I couldn't see how it took Sam more than 20 years to see through her. And at that, as the handwritten note on the back flap asks, "How do you account for last four words?", the book ending, "He was so confidently happy that he completely forgot Fran and he did not again yearn for her, for almost two days." And this is after he's seemingly found his ideal woman. As much as a Colette novel, this is a story of unhappily masochistic love. Again, wife-beating is joked about, but it's Sam who's bullied verbally, while everyone who isn't a frivolous European tells Sam how wonderful he is.
Not coincidentally, Lewis's first marriage broke up in 1925, and in '28 he married journalist Dorothy Thompson, whom this novel is dedicated to. (No relation to Ruth Plumly, although RPT did have a sister named Dorothy.)
Sinclair Lewis
Dodsworth
Original price unknown, bought used for $1.50
Poor condition paperback
B-
While the view of upper-middle-class Americans traveling through Europe in the 1920s is interesting, including an early look at both Italian Fascism and a German gay bar, I got tired of the Dodsworths' marriage long before Sam Dodsworth did. Fran is so obviously a spoiled, hypocritical, hypercritical bitch that I couldn't see how it took Sam more than 20 years to see through her. And at that, as the handwritten note on the back flap asks, "How do you account for last four words?", the book ending, "He was so confidently happy that he completely forgot Fran and he did not again yearn for her, for almost two days." And this is after he's seemingly found his ideal woman. As much as a Colette novel, this is a story of unhappily masochistic love. Again, wife-beating is joked about, but it's Sam who's bullied verbally, while everyone who isn't a frivolous European tells Sam how wonderful he is.
Not coincidentally, Lewis's first marriage broke up in 1925, and in '28 he married journalist Dorothy Thompson, whom this novel is dedicated to. (No relation to Ruth Plumly, although RPT did have a sister named Dorothy.)
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Elmer Gantry
1927, 1967 Signet edition
Sinclair Lewis
Elmer Gantry
Original price 95 cents, bought used for unknown
Paperback in terrible condition
B-
In this novel, Lewis presents one of the most unappealing protagonists in American fiction, so it's not exactly an enjoyable book. I would argue the fact that Gantry is so horrible, without any redeeming feature, makes the novel also less well-written. And it's not as if any of the other characters, except perhaps Frank Shallard, are drawn with any complexity. It's mostly Lewis telling us of the havoc that Gantry wreaks across several denominations. New Thought also comes in for satire, and even paganism isn't spared. At least Voltaire allowed a moment of hope, a message to "cultivate our garden." This is Lewis's bleakest book yet.
Babbitt again makes a guest shot, briefly, and his minister, Reverend John Jennison Drew, understandably gets more to do here than in the earlier novel. There's also a sympathetic Christian character who mocks Main Street. There's another non-Hispanic Juanita, after Mrs. Haydock in Main Street, this time the blonde that Gantry's involved with early on.
It feels strange to keep calling him Gantry, because more than with Babbitt and Arrowsmith, or with Dodsworth coming up, Lewis calls the main character by the first name. Usually, this would suggest an intimacy and/or fondness, but clearly Lewis would not want to identify too closely with Elmer. I do notice though that Carol, Martin, and Elmer all have black hair. Lewis's own hair was red, but perhaps that seemed less heroic.
Sinclair Lewis
Elmer Gantry
Original price 95 cents, bought used for unknown
Paperback in terrible condition
B-
In this novel, Lewis presents one of the most unappealing protagonists in American fiction, so it's not exactly an enjoyable book. I would argue the fact that Gantry is so horrible, without any redeeming feature, makes the novel also less well-written. And it's not as if any of the other characters, except perhaps Frank Shallard, are drawn with any complexity. It's mostly Lewis telling us of the havoc that Gantry wreaks across several denominations. New Thought also comes in for satire, and even paganism isn't spared. At least Voltaire allowed a moment of hope, a message to "cultivate our garden." This is Lewis's bleakest book yet.
Babbitt again makes a guest shot, briefly, and his minister, Reverend John Jennison Drew, understandably gets more to do here than in the earlier novel. There's also a sympathetic Christian character who mocks Main Street. There's another non-Hispanic Juanita, after Mrs. Haydock in Main Street, this time the blonde that Gantry's involved with early on.
It feels strange to keep calling him Gantry, because more than with Babbitt and Arrowsmith, or with Dodsworth coming up, Lewis calls the main character by the first name. Usually, this would suggest an intimacy and/or fondness, but clearly Lewis would not want to identify too closely with Elmer. I do notice though that Carol, Martin, and Elmer all have black hair. Lewis's own hair was red, but perhaps that seemed less heroic.
Friday, April 20, 2012
Arrowsmith
1925, 1980 Signet Classic edition
Sinclair Lewis
Arrowsmith
Bought newish for $4.95
Very worn paperback
B
Like The Age of Innocence (1920), this won the Pulitzer Prize. I think it's a better book, although not Lewis's best. For once, as Mark Schorer says in the Afterword, Lewis presents a hero who isn't ground down by the society around him. The title character does what Babbitt failed to do, go off and live in the woods with a best friend (here Terry Wickett), in this case also working as a research scientist.
If I like this book less than the two earlier Lewis novels I've read, I think it's because I relate less to it. Also, the very fact that Martin Arrowsmith is a hero makes me more critical of him. Martin makes a flippant comment about wife-beating in the last chapter, and he is in his own way as domineering as Babbitt. Martin's second wife, Joyce, is a society woman and we don't spend much time with her, but we do get to know his first wife.
Leora Arrowsmith was a favorite of the early readers, but I'm not sure how I feel about her. Her death is movingly told, but her life is questionably done. On the one hand, she's obviously the perfect wife for Martin: unpretentious, patient, supportive, and bluntly yet kindly honest. On the other, she has no life of her own, as she recognizes. Lewis compares her to a cat and a child, to show how undemanding she is, which makes me wonder how much he knows about cats or children. She almost always goes along with Martin, who not only neglects her but nearly cheats on her a couple times. In fact, he's off flirting/bonding with Joyce while Leora dies alone. He's racked with guilt when he finds out, but he gets over it and goes on to marry Joyce. It's a bit manipulative of Lewis.
I do like the sections on science and research, or at least how absorbed Martin gets in them. (What a different novel it would be if he were a life-long bachelor, like Terry.) Lewis makes some further jabs at "Main Street" and Zenith, as well as towns in between in size and sophistication. I think the book may be smaller than its parts.
Incidentally, Babbitt makes a guest appearance in 1908, when he still has political ambitions. Main Street aside, Lewis likes to do crossovers between his books, which is part of his world-building.
Sinclair Lewis
Arrowsmith
Bought newish for $4.95
Very worn paperback
B
Like The Age of Innocence (1920), this won the Pulitzer Prize. I think it's a better book, although not Lewis's best. For once, as Mark Schorer says in the Afterword, Lewis presents a hero who isn't ground down by the society around him. The title character does what Babbitt failed to do, go off and live in the woods with a best friend (here Terry Wickett), in this case also working as a research scientist.
If I like this book less than the two earlier Lewis novels I've read, I think it's because I relate less to it. Also, the very fact that Martin Arrowsmith is a hero makes me more critical of him. Martin makes a flippant comment about wife-beating in the last chapter, and he is in his own way as domineering as Babbitt. Martin's second wife, Joyce, is a society woman and we don't spend much time with her, but we do get to know his first wife.
Leora Arrowsmith was a favorite of the early readers, but I'm not sure how I feel about her. Her death is movingly told, but her life is questionably done. On the one hand, she's obviously the perfect wife for Martin: unpretentious, patient, supportive, and bluntly yet kindly honest. On the other, she has no life of her own, as she recognizes. Lewis compares her to a cat and a child, to show how undemanding she is, which makes me wonder how much he knows about cats or children. She almost always goes along with Martin, who not only neglects her but nearly cheats on her a couple times. In fact, he's off flirting/bonding with Joyce while Leora dies alone. He's racked with guilt when he finds out, but he gets over it and goes on to marry Joyce. It's a bit manipulative of Lewis.
I do like the sections on science and research, or at least how absorbed Martin gets in them. (What a different novel it would be if he were a life-long bachelor, like Terry.) Lewis makes some further jabs at "Main Street" and Zenith, as well as towns in between in size and sophistication. I think the book may be smaller than its parts.
Incidentally, Babbitt makes a guest appearance in 1908, when he still has political ambitions. Main Street aside, Lewis likes to do crossovers between his books, which is part of his world-building.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Babbitt
1922, undated (see below) Harcourt, Brace and Company edition
Sinclair Lewis
Babbitt
Bought used for $7.50
Hardcover with worn corners
B+
I don't know if this is a first edition, but I think it's pre-1925, because it's by the "author of Main Street," with no mention of Lewis's Pulitzer-Prize-winning Arrowsmith. In any case, it's one of Lewis's books that was instantly popular, and indeed there was a silent-film version in '24. As Wikipedia notes, "Critics have posed reasons for the book's continuing accessibility to include Lewis's seeming success in identifying and portraying emotions, challenges, and concerns that remain relatively stable over time." Like Main Street, it should feel more dated than it does. But George Babbitt would fit in well with 1950s go-getters, and even modern-day successes who feel like there's something missing in their lives. It is, however, a very 1920s book, with Babbitt's 19-year-old son, Ted, rushing into marriage with the flapper next door, and with so much of the 20th-century, particularly advertizing, still new although already standardized.
Babbitt is a middle-aged realtor (not a real-estate man, he repeatedly emphasizes), and he seems to be living the American Dream. But he dreams of a "fairy child," a woman who will understand him as his loyal but unimaginative wife, Myra, does not. To the modern reader, it's clear that Babbitt's true love is his old friend Paul. It's not necessarily a romantic love but it certainly qualifies as bromantic. When Paul goes to jail for attempted murder of his shrewish wife, Zilla, Babbitt falls apart. He has an affair, drinks too much, and worst of all starts spouting "liberal" opinions. Only Myra's appendicitis can bring him back to the straight and narrow path. And yet, he realizes that his son has a chance to live the life he wants, and he agrees to support Ted's decisions, including dropping out of college to become a mechanic.
Babbitt isn't necessarily likable, since he's a lying, cheating bully. Yet Lewis makes you understand him. Like Carol Kennicott, his rebellion is unsuccessful, and in some ways more tragic because he doesn't even understand why he's rebelling. The narrators speak in the language of each protagonist, so Main Street is as wry yet naive as Carol, while the language of this novel-- all the pep and boosterism and slang-- is beautifully ugly.
Also, Lewis this time creates a world. It's one thing to put together a small town like Gopher Prairie, but this is his first book set in Zenith, Winnemac. Zenith is about 100 times the size of Gopher Prairie, and it's the city with zip. (I wonder if it's deliberate that both it and anti-wife Zilla start with Z.) Lewis shows us various neighborhoods and businesses in Zenith, some of them on the illegal side. (This may well be my earliest book to refer to cocaine, and I'm pretty sure it's the first to address the impact of Prohibition.) In Arrowsmith, Lewis will tell us, "The state of Winnemac is bounded by Michigan, Ohio, Illinois, and Indiana, and like them it is half Eastern, half Midwestern."
There's also a sense that Lewis is foreshadowing future books, with topics hinted at here and addressed later: religion (Elmer Gantry), Americans abroad (Dodsworth), and even, briefly, courageous scientists (Arrowsmith). The Dodsworth family is mentioned, although I think a different branch than Sam and Fran.
Sinclair Lewis
Babbitt
Bought used for $7.50
Hardcover with worn corners
B+
I don't know if this is a first edition, but I think it's pre-1925, because it's by the "author of Main Street," with no mention of Lewis's Pulitzer-Prize-winning Arrowsmith. In any case, it's one of Lewis's books that was instantly popular, and indeed there was a silent-film version in '24. As Wikipedia notes, "Critics have posed reasons for the book's continuing accessibility to include Lewis's seeming success in identifying and portraying emotions, challenges, and concerns that remain relatively stable over time." Like Main Street, it should feel more dated than it does. But George Babbitt would fit in well with 1950s go-getters, and even modern-day successes who feel like there's something missing in their lives. It is, however, a very 1920s book, with Babbitt's 19-year-old son, Ted, rushing into marriage with the flapper next door, and with so much of the 20th-century, particularly advertizing, still new although already standardized.
Babbitt is a middle-aged realtor (not a real-estate man, he repeatedly emphasizes), and he seems to be living the American Dream. But he dreams of a "fairy child," a woman who will understand him as his loyal but unimaginative wife, Myra, does not. To the modern reader, it's clear that Babbitt's true love is his old friend Paul. It's not necessarily a romantic love but it certainly qualifies as bromantic. When Paul goes to jail for attempted murder of his shrewish wife, Zilla, Babbitt falls apart. He has an affair, drinks too much, and worst of all starts spouting "liberal" opinions. Only Myra's appendicitis can bring him back to the straight and narrow path. And yet, he realizes that his son has a chance to live the life he wants, and he agrees to support Ted's decisions, including dropping out of college to become a mechanic.
Babbitt isn't necessarily likable, since he's a lying, cheating bully. Yet Lewis makes you understand him. Like Carol Kennicott, his rebellion is unsuccessful, and in some ways more tragic because he doesn't even understand why he's rebelling. The narrators speak in the language of each protagonist, so Main Street is as wry yet naive as Carol, while the language of this novel-- all the pep and boosterism and slang-- is beautifully ugly.
Also, Lewis this time creates a world. It's one thing to put together a small town like Gopher Prairie, but this is his first book set in Zenith, Winnemac. Zenith is about 100 times the size of Gopher Prairie, and it's the city with zip. (I wonder if it's deliberate that both it and anti-wife Zilla start with Z.) Lewis shows us various neighborhoods and businesses in Zenith, some of them on the illegal side. (This may well be my earliest book to refer to cocaine, and I'm pretty sure it's the first to address the impact of Prohibition.) In Arrowsmith, Lewis will tell us, "The state of Winnemac is bounded by Michigan, Ohio, Illinois, and Indiana, and like them it is half Eastern, half Midwestern."
There's also a sense that Lewis is foreshadowing future books, with topics hinted at here and addressed later: religion (Elmer Gantry), Americans abroad (Dodsworth), and even, briefly, courageous scientists (Arrowsmith). The Dodsworth family is mentioned, although I think a different branch than Sam and Fran.
Saturday, April 7, 2012
Main Street
1920, 1980 Signet Classic edition
Sinclair Lewis
Main Street
Bought newish for $4.50
Worn paperback
B+
Lewis's first successful novel should be more dated than it is. Oh, yes, there's the explanation of "hot dogs" as "frankfurters on buns," and it certainly is a product of its time, looking back on the then last decade or so, as automobiles, the Great War, and boosterism have their impact on small-town life. But the way that people gossip and use other forms of peer pressure hasn't changed. As Lewis notes, an office can be like Main Street, and this environment most reminds me of junior high.
Also, as Mark Schorer's afterword observes, Lewis defined the small-town stereotypes for ever after: the socialist "crank," the old-maid schoolteacher, the no-nonsense doctor, and so on. It is odd that Erik, the "town queer" (actually, one of two men who are mocked for being effeminate), is the potential lover for the main female character. Carol is always on the verge of rebellion but never quite makes it, even when she escapes to Washington, D.C. for a year. Like Erik, she's not quite talented, clever, or unique enough to make it. All she can do is voice her discontent. She knows that there are "other Carols" out there, but unfortunately not enough of them in one place to make a difference. There's poignancy to her vision of her daughter, born the year of the publication date. "Think what that baby will see and meddle with before she dies in the year 2000!" The nameless 80-year-old indeed would see advances and setbacks, including for feminism.
While Lewis was not exactly a feminist, he could write convincing and sometimes likable female characters. Carol is possibly his best, despite her blind spots and hypocrisies. He also, as Schorer notes, approves of Carol's husband, Will. When Will has an affair, it's understandable. Carol is oblivious to it, partly because she doesn't fully see him as a person. By the end of the novel, they've grown to understand each other a bit better. They'll always be two very different people, but their marriage is actually one of the better ones in the book.
And yet, I don't think Carol should've gone back to him, not when it means returning to Gopher Prairie. She builds a life for herself and her little son in Washington, and her return means trying to repress the best parts of herself.
There's definitely a pessimistic strain in Lewis. It would get worse, but even here, so many of the characters have tragedies heaped upon them. Miles the anarchist loses his wife and son, and then is almost run out of town. Fern Mullins, the vibrant young teacher, is the victim of malicious gossip. Erik, after dealing with a harsh father and an unsympathetic boss, as well as the town's ridicule and Carol's rejection, ironically escapes to the life of a silent actor, which we're meant to see as a waste-- Lewis is vicious about early movies-- but I think he comes closer to a happy life than any of the other victims of Gopher Prairie. The saddest though may be Guy Pollock, who's too passive to woo Carol and too worn down by the town to leave.
Vida Sherwin, the old-maid schoolteacher, ends up marrying effeminate Raymie, and boosts his confidence so much that he becomes a war hero. She's one of the more complicated characters, nursing a secret crush on Will, adoring and disparaging Carol, pushing through the few reforms the town has, and being bloodthirstily anti-German during the War.
It's a Minnesota town, with Germans and Scandinavians as the minorities, although the criticisms by the townspeople of farmers and servants are the words of bigots everywhere. The arguments against unions wouldn't change for decades, perhaps still haven't. In fact, other than the slang and the fashions, this could pass for the 1950s. My hometown in the 1980s was larger but had the same level of anti-intellectualism and homophobia. And that place is one of the towns mentioned in the book.
Sinclair Lewis
Main Street
Bought newish for $4.50
Worn paperback
B+
Lewis's first successful novel should be more dated than it is. Oh, yes, there's the explanation of "hot dogs" as "frankfurters on buns," and it certainly is a product of its time, looking back on the then last decade or so, as automobiles, the Great War, and boosterism have their impact on small-town life. But the way that people gossip and use other forms of peer pressure hasn't changed. As Lewis notes, an office can be like Main Street, and this environment most reminds me of junior high.
Also, as Mark Schorer's afterword observes, Lewis defined the small-town stereotypes for ever after: the socialist "crank," the old-maid schoolteacher, the no-nonsense doctor, and so on. It is odd that Erik, the "town queer" (actually, one of two men who are mocked for being effeminate), is the potential lover for the main female character. Carol is always on the verge of rebellion but never quite makes it, even when she escapes to Washington, D.C. for a year. Like Erik, she's not quite talented, clever, or unique enough to make it. All she can do is voice her discontent. She knows that there are "other Carols" out there, but unfortunately not enough of them in one place to make a difference. There's poignancy to her vision of her daughter, born the year of the publication date. "Think what that baby will see and meddle with before she dies in the year 2000!" The nameless 80-year-old indeed would see advances and setbacks, including for feminism.
While Lewis was not exactly a feminist, he could write convincing and sometimes likable female characters. Carol is possibly his best, despite her blind spots and hypocrisies. He also, as Schorer notes, approves of Carol's husband, Will. When Will has an affair, it's understandable. Carol is oblivious to it, partly because she doesn't fully see him as a person. By the end of the novel, they've grown to understand each other a bit better. They'll always be two very different people, but their marriage is actually one of the better ones in the book.
And yet, I don't think Carol should've gone back to him, not when it means returning to Gopher Prairie. She builds a life for herself and her little son in Washington, and her return means trying to repress the best parts of herself.
There's definitely a pessimistic strain in Lewis. It would get worse, but even here, so many of the characters have tragedies heaped upon them. Miles the anarchist loses his wife and son, and then is almost run out of town. Fern Mullins, the vibrant young teacher, is the victim of malicious gossip. Erik, after dealing with a harsh father and an unsympathetic boss, as well as the town's ridicule and Carol's rejection, ironically escapes to the life of a silent actor, which we're meant to see as a waste-- Lewis is vicious about early movies-- but I think he comes closer to a happy life than any of the other victims of Gopher Prairie. The saddest though may be Guy Pollock, who's too passive to woo Carol and too worn down by the town to leave.
Vida Sherwin, the old-maid schoolteacher, ends up marrying effeminate Raymie, and boosts his confidence so much that he becomes a war hero. She's one of the more complicated characters, nursing a secret crush on Will, adoring and disparaging Carol, pushing through the few reforms the town has, and being bloodthirstily anti-German during the War.
It's a Minnesota town, with Germans and Scandinavians as the minorities, although the criticisms by the townspeople of farmers and servants are the words of bigots everywhere. The arguments against unions wouldn't change for decades, perhaps still haven't. In fact, other than the slang and the fashions, this could pass for the 1950s. My hometown in the 1980s was larger but had the same level of anti-intellectualism and homophobia. And that place is one of the towns mentioned in the book.
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