"We may admire a book as great literature but the greatest tribute any reader can pay any book is to love it."
--Compton Mackenzie, in the Afterword of the 1962 Signet Classic ed. of Ivanhoe
As an English major I probably should have read Sir Walter Scott's classic Ivanhoe a long time ago, but life being as it is I never did, so I picked it up today and took it to the beach. I only got through the first chapter, however, because I was first distracted by the book's Dedicatory Epistle, addressed by Scott to his friend the Rev. Dr. Dryasdust. In the letter he pleads Dryasdust's approval of Ivanhoe, justifying himself to his friend over and over in that already defeated beggerly tone that I have used on many a friend and vice versa--the tone that pleads impossible acceptance in the eyes of one who knows you too well to be fooled by your arguments, and will inevitably call you out on the matter at hand.
Scott begins by reminding Dryasdust of the common literary convention in that time whereby a writer "availed himself....of the antiquarian stores which lay scattered about him, supplying his own indolence or poverty of invention by the incidents which had actually taken place in his country at no distant period, by introducing real characters, and scarcely suppressing real names" (Scott, xvi).
In other words, authors who lacked imagination or were steeped in writer's block could take almost immediate history and spin it into a story by which he would receive "more credit and profit than the facility of his labours merited" (xvi). Indeed. Apparently, one of Dryasdust's own friends had fallen prey to this acceptable means of "fictional" gossip, and we can conclude he was not a fan of this literary practice.
Scott then goes on to explain that he is writing a similar novel, except that his would be about England, whereas most of these aforementioned stories seem to have revolved around the more "romantic" events and scenery of Scottish history. Anticipating Dryasdust's criticism of the relative dullness and "scantiness of materials" (xviii) on Norman and Anglo-Saxon history, he proceeds to make several arguments in defense of the way he will "spice it up"--namely, by mixing up historical events, putting modern language in ancient mouths, screwing with time and eras, and altogether "polluting the well of history with modern inventions, and impressing upon the rising generation false ideas of the age which I describe" (xix). So said Scott facetiously in reference to the criticism he knew would come from "severer antiquary" (xix).
By the way, in case you haven't read the story, Robin Hood and Richard the Lionhearted make important appearances in the novel, and one of the key causes for the disgruntlement of serious historians is the marked division between the Norman and Anglo-Saxon peoples, which apparently had mended itself by the end of the 12th Century, the time in which this novel supposedly takes place.
I was, to be honest, a little surprised by these confessions, and the later descriptions in the book's Afterword about the actual historical and cultural inaccuracies to be dug up in Ivanhoe by a more dedicated reader. I think I had always felt that the classics were written by geniuses who always came up with their own ideas, or at least did meticulous research about historical plots they used, or even wrote about events in their own time, careful to preserve the facts and period clothing while adding in fictional characters. I don't know why I thought this, because the artist part of me knew better--I had a good chuckle when I traveled in Europe and observed all the different styles of Mother Marys there were to be seen on the Cathedral reliefs and in the great paintings of the Masters.
But surprise me it did, and gave me pause, because we accept Ivanhoe as a classic of literature--beloved, having stood the test of time, yet I have turned up my nose at Death Comes to Pemberley and Mr. Darcy Presents His Bride on the charge that they are copycats written by obsessive Austen fans who just can't bear to let the Darcys rest in peace and find their own new characters to write about. I am convinced that they will not be able to properly imitate Austen's exact style and language, and therefore ruin the whole story. (I must here confess that I have never opened one such book to find out if their authors really have or have not done justice to my beloved Jane, so please make no judgments on their style or content based on my own prejudice.)
But Scott had no qualms about digging up the bones of old stories and dressing them in modern skin and clothing. He was (it seems) out of ideas, so he turned to ancient history, stories (and legends) that had already been told, but making them more palatable to what was then the modern day reader: "....I have so far explained our ancient manners in modern language, and so far detailed the characters and sentiments of my person, that the modern reader will not find himself, I should hope, much trammelled by the repulsive dryness of mere antiquity. In this, I respectfully contend, I have in no respect exceeded the fair license due to the author of a fictitious composition" (xx). He goes on to criticize Chaucer's use of Old English in the Canterbury Tales, saying that the reader is "apt to lay the work down in despair" (xx), which elicited a smirk from me, who definitely read a modern translation of Geoffrey for my college course in Old English Lit.
In conclusion, Scott's overall argument is that the normal reader is not going to go look up the historical facts and be picky about whether such and such an event happened in the 10th or 11th Century. He makes the point that to get readers interested at all, an author has to relate the story to them, both in language and in emotions/sentiment.
Furthermore, it seems that old stories have been recycled for a long, long time. No wonder Batman is about to be re-done for like the 6th time. We love old stories, but we always want to find ways to bring them closer to us. Batman from the '80s just doesn't cut it anymore. And no, sometimes, we can't just let go of the Darcys--we are hungry to know more about these people we share our lives with, virtual as they are.
And I have to agree with Compton Mackenzie when he says that the true test of a book is how much people love it. The same can be said of crappy country music. When we find words that describe our life, our situation, our soul, our feelings, we latch onto them, and the quality of a book or song or poem becomes much less important than whether or not it makes us feel less lonely in the universe.
After all, as C.S. Lewis said, "We read to know we're not alone."
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