Anthony Burgess. But Do Blondes Prefer Gentlemen (1986) A collection of “other writings”, mostly book reviews, with occasional travel pieces and general interest essays. Loosely organised by topic, eg, there are several essays about James Joyce all in a row.
Burgess has a lively, well-stocked mind, and knows his opinions well. His pieces are a pleasure to read, especially when you have some knowledge of his subject, and even when you disagree with him. I don’t think Finnegan’s Wake and Ulysses are the greatest novels of the 20th century, but Burgess almost convinces me to take another read at them.
He doesn’t like Orwell’s writing, but can’t help admiring his honesty, and his attempts to say things as truthfully as possible. I wonder what he would now make of Orwell’s insight into how surveillance generates paranoia, which kills empathy.
He doesn’t think science fiction is really literature, because its focus on ideas prevents its being literary art. Literature as art is finally what attracts Burgess. Using language as the medium for creating – what, exactly? He’s right that what separates entertainment from art is style (for want of a better word), and that writers can use language to help or make us imagine what we could or would not imagine otherwise, which is the function of art in any medium. But I think he undervalues craft. There’s an irony in that. He’s is a superb craftsman. His essays are learned without being pedantic, entertaining without being superficial, and satisfying for both their ideas and the skilful exposition.
The pieces are undated, and there is no index, both serious lacks. Nevertheless, recommended, if you can find a copy. I’ll probably keep this one for the occasional re-read. ***
No comments:
Post a Comment