Showing posts with label Mark Twain. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mark Twain. Show all posts

Sunday, December 3, 2017

Morning Thoughts: December 3, 2017

A family was practically destroyed once by a spoiled, self-centered, and selfish child. There were signs and warnings, had one been paying attention. I thought about that family last month when I re-read Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn. I do that every decade or so and find it fascinating how my perception changes with age, experience and education.

On first reading, way back in high school, I regarded both boys as simply high-spirited youngsters. Some writers even now refer to them as “all-American boys.” I have even seen a piece of serious scholarship that actually described Tom Sawyer as the symbol of “Yankee ingenuity and entrepreneurship.”

Now, I see Huckleberry Finn as a character possessing some potential for growth and maturity. He has occasional sparks of goodnesss, although he is much too slow and passive to use it effectively.

Tom Sawyer, on the other hand, I would best describe with the use of the pop-psychology term “sociopath.” He is self-centered and careless to the point of endangering the lives of those around him. He almost leads his childhood sweetheart to her death by carelessly luring her beyond the realm of safety in a cave. He allows his family and friends to mourn his death before miraculously appearing at his own funeral.

Tom is capable of good, we see early on, but he uses it so rarely that is penchant for the bad and careless is even more painful to watch.

In Huckleberry Finn, he repeatedly, and with insightful cruelty, threatens the life of the slave Jim, perhaps the most noble character in either book.

Tom is a person who, in order to feed his own self-satisfying fantasy-life, would do great damage not only to all around him, but to his family and best friends as well. He is a pre-civil war “Ferris Bueller.”

Which brings me to the initial subject of today’s rant. The person I knew started out as simply a rebellions boy. To his great misfortune, he was “cute and charming.” It started with such seemingly harmless things as being a finicky eater, not caring that his mother had to fix a separate meal for him. Disobediences for which siblings had been severely punished were overlooked in him. Cruelty to a playmate was explained by the claim that he was just “all boy.” (This statement is the prevalent euphemism for sociopathic behavior throughout our part of the world.)

Cruelty to others gave permission for a greater act of misbehavior, the next more serious still. Before he reached adulthood, his only concern on any given day was what might bring him pleasure. Illegal behavior cost his family again and again. Provided a stake with which to earn a living, he squandered it in bad decisions.

Perhaps the most obvious part of the pattern was that each outrageous act forgiven or overlooked led to ones more outrageous still. Observers looking for a bottom to his reckless behavior never saw one until his looks, his luck, and his support ran out, leaving ruin raining down all about him.

That is what comes of overlooking errant actions because the perpetrator is considered cute, charismatic, or contemptuous of cultural norms.

Disclaimer: The person described is a composite from my study and experience and not intended to represent an actual person, at least not one I know personally.

Just thinking.



Monday, December 22, 2014

Damnation

There are things one has read dozens of times that suddenly pierce like lightning on a late evening reading. From the ending of “Heart of Darkness,” Marlow lies to Kurtz’s lover about the details of Kurtz's death:

"I was on the point of crying at her, 'Don't you hear them?' The dusk was repeating them in a persistent whisper all around us, in a whisper that seemed to swell menacingly like the first whisper of a rising wind. 'The horror! The horror!'

"'His last word—to live with,' she murmured. 'Don't you understand I loved him—I loved him—I loved him!'

"I pulled myself together and spoke slowly.

"'The last word he pronounced was—your name.'

"I heard a light sigh, and then my heart stood still, stopped dead short by an exulting and terrible cry, by the cry of inconceivable triumph and of unspeakable pain. 'I knew it—I was sure!' . . . She knew. She was sure. I heard her weeping; she had hidden her face in her hands. It seemed to me that the house would collapse before I could escape, that the heavens would fall upon my head. But nothing happened. The heavens do not fall for such a trifle. Would they have fallen, I wonder, if I had rendered Kurtz that justice which was his due? Hadn't he said he wanted only justice? But I couldn't. I could not tell her. It would have been too dark—too dark altogether. . . "

 It dawned on me to compare that passage to the immortal one from Mark Twain’s “Huckleberry Finn,” in which Huck makes the (soul-damning) decision not to send a letter turning the slave Jim in, as he is legally and, by the code of the times, morally, bound to do.

“I felt good and all washed clean of sin for the first time I had ever felt so in my life, and I knowed I could pray now. But I didn't do it straight off, but laid the paper down and set there thinking—thinking how good it was all this happened so, and how near I come to being lost and going to hell. And went on thinking. And got to thinking over our trip down the river; and I see Jim before me all the time: in the day and in the night-time, sometimes moonlight, sometimes storms, and we a-floating along, talking and singing and laughing. But somehow I couldn't seem to strike no places to harden me against him, but only the other kind. I'd see him standing my watch on top of his'n, 'stead of calling me, so I could go on sleeping; and see him how glad he was when I come back out of the fog; and when I come to him again in the swamp, up there where the feud was; and such-like times; and would always call me honey, and pet me, and do everything he could think of for me, and how good he always was; and at last I struck the time I saved him by telling the men we had smallpox aboard, and he was so grateful, and said I was the best friend old Jim ever had in the world, and the only one he's got now; and then I happened to look around and see that paper.

It was a close place. I took it up, and held it in my hand. I was a-trembling, because I'd got to decide, forever, betwixt two things, and I knowed it. I studied a minute, sort of holding my breath, and then says to myself:

"All right, then, I'll go to hell"—and tore it up. It was awful thoughts and awful words, but they was said. And I let them stay said; and never thought no more about reforming. I shoved the whole thing out of my head, and said I would take up wickedness again, which was in my line, being brung up to it, and the other warn't. And for a starter I would go to work and steal Jim out of slavery again; and if I could think up anything worse, I would do that, too; because as long as I was in, and in for good, I might as well go the whole hog.”

 So, one wonders, how would Conrad and Twain feel about tormenting young immigrant children? Would it free our soul from damnation or, would we find comfort in believing that, “The heavens do not fall for such a trifle?”