A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court by Mark Twain

Source of book: Audiobook from the library - but we also own this in hardback.

My first introduction to A Connecticut Yankee was as a fairly young child, in the form of an abridged edition someone gave us. Yeah, yeah, I know. No, it wasn’t great, and yes, it omitted a lot of the book - the stuff that makes the book a good satire, not just a story. But whatever. I went back and read the real thing in my teens. However, I wonder if I still had some of the abridgement in my mind even up till now, because I had forgotten a few passages that I am thankful my children did okay with, because the are a bit traumatic.

The basic story is pretty well known, so I won’t worry about spoilers. An American engineer, Hank Morgan, is bopped on the head in a fight, and awakens to find himself in King Arthur’s england in the 6th Century CE. He escapes being burned at the stake by accurately predicting a solar eclipse (making this a perfect book for our eclipse trip…), and rises to power due to his scientific and mechanical knowledge. He attempts to modernize the kingdom through 19th Century technology - and more importantly, Enlightenment values - but eventually fails to overcome the superstition and prejudice of the time. 

 

Original illustration by Daniel Carter Beard, 1889

Twain had a purpose in writing this book: to combat the idolization of the Middle Ages, particularly the class distinctions, religious superstition, glorification of violence, and the view that the law should protect the powerful at the expense of the poor. Twain had particular ire toward Sir Walter Scott, whose historical novels about the middle ages were popular in the American South. In Twain’s view, Scott’s romanticized views of a society wherein the nobility practically owned the serfs gave cover to the enslavers of the South, who imagined themselves to be great lords, beneficent to their dark skinned vassals, even as they brutalized and dehumanized them.

This is a bit unfair to Scott himself, who hardly intended that sort of result. However, there is some truth in Twain’s charge. Many Scots settled in the South, and in fact did idolize Sir Walter’s works. In the most extreme case, the Ku Klux Klan adapted the Highland call to arms - the burning cross described in The Lady of the Lake - as a symbol of violence against African Americans. You can even draw a depressing line to the present. The Scottish Presbyterian tradition (which Sir Walter portrays in The Heart of Midlothian) was a dominant religious tradition in the Antebellum South. That Reformed tradition continues to be central to the Southern Baptist Convention - a denomination founded as a bulwark against the abolition of slavery. In the present day, the loathsome Doug Wilson makes much of his Scottish heritage and his Reformed beliefs. And also defends slavery and claims the Middle Ages were the most perfect “Christian” society ever. (Second is the Antebellum South, of course…) Kind of an interesting, um, let’s call it a coincidence. Or not.

So anyway, Twain attempts to de-romanticise the Middle Ages by portraying the often brutal realities of the era. In this, he is a bit anachronistic. The setting is the court of King Arthur, and that legend is itself anachronistic. Such things as plate armor didn’t exist back then in reality, Arthur historically didn’t rule much more than a portion of Wales, and feudalism was hardly as developed as we tend to think. But Twain isn’t striving for historical accuracy anyway. He is addressing the myth as it stands. So he accepts and uses the blend of early and late Middle Ages and the legends from Arthur on down as it existed in popular imagination. To this end, he quotes extensively from Mallory’s Mort D’Arthur - the characters tell some of the tales - and has Hank comment on the passages, usually by noting the endless and senseless violence. (For what it is worth, Stephen Pinker gives a more scholarly look at violence in the Middle Ages in The Better Angels of our Nature and confirms the truth that violence was indeed shockingly routine…)

Another case in which Twain takes a historical liberty is in the matter of Droit du seigneur, the right of a lord to have sex with any peasant girl on her wedding night. This probably did not officially exist as a right - instead, there was a tax the peasants had to pay when they married (and pretty much for everything else - as a book I read once about the society of the Middle Ages detailed in excruciating detail) - but later writers such as William Blackstone mention it, so it was popularly believed to exist. More likely, powerful men raped whomever they wished without any meaningful penalty - when you are rich, you can get away with anything, right? This particular scene in the book is one I hadn’t remembered, and I am glad I didn’t get awkward questions about it. What is most interesting to me about it, though, is the fact that Southern enslavers did believe they had the right to rape their slaves - and the genetic evidence is that it happened all the time.

This isn’t the only instance of oppression Twain illuminates. The nobility generally gets to abuse the lower classes at will, and they have no recourse. Seemingly minor crimes are punished by death - at least if you are a peasant. (This too is historically accurate. I was shocked to find in law school that ALL felonies were capital - even theft. The only way out was to be aristocracy, in which case you were pardoned by the king, or clergy, which gave you a right to imprisonment instead of execution…) This, alas, isn’t something we have entirely outgrown. While a fundamental American value is that we are all equal under the law, this has not always been true in practice. It is beyond the scope of this post to get into the details of that, but it is impossible to avoid the evidence that money and social class can indeed determine all too many outcomes in our society, from stop and frisk to arrest rates to prison terms to implementation of the death penalty. And then, those in power can literally get away with murder all too often. (See Tamir Rice, for example.)

In this respect, Twain’s satire fits today pretty darn well. He intended it to be a pointed commentary on his own society - particularly on the social and racial inequality that existed in the Gilded Age - but it still seems fresh and relevant. There is still the idea that it is okay that the working poor starve so that the rich can have even more. There is still the belief that people are expendable, and that their lives do not really matter. And there is still the idea that wealth and power mean a person is morally “better” than those below him.

Twain is brutally hard on the Roman Catholic Church in this book. He wasn’t particularly fond of religion in general, but he believed that the worst of all was the unholy marriage of political power and religion. Throughout the book, he makes the case that church and state should be separate, and that there should not be an established religion of any sort. I thoroughly agree (as did C. S. Lewis) with that principle. Twain further castigates religion for preaching submission to the masses as a way of making them accept abuse and injustice. Marx too noted this, and it is to the everlasting shame of religion that it has allowed itself to be used to this ignoble end. (I’ll also note that Saint Augustine encouraged the poor to seek social justice. That was 1600 years ago too - the Church hasn’t always been a tool of the rich.) It would do us good as Christians to note that the founder of our religion said that a sign that he was from God was that “the good news is preached to the poor.”

Other concerns of Twain also appear in this book. He advocates for universal suffrage. And yes, that includes women, who he noted could, with a little education, show better judgment than most men. Twain had an interesting marriage for the time. He married Olivia Langdon, who came from a family that was fiercely in favor of the abolition of slavery and for women’s suffrage. She was a fiery feminist, educated and intelligent, and Twain’s match. Until her death, she edited his works and gave him opinionated feedback. By all accounts, it was an egalitarian marriage, and he was devastated by her death.

More surprising, though, was Twain’s take on racial issues in this book. Twain was, alas, of his time in some respects. He said some pretty horrid things about Native Americans in some of his books (particularly Roughing It, which was an earlier book), and shows some of the racial prejudice of his age in others. However, for his era, he was rather progressive, and appears to have become more so as time went on. In Pudd’nhead Wilson, for example, he imagines a slave baby and a free baby which are switched at birth, and makes the case that nurture, not genes, are the difference. Likewise, in Huckleberry Finn, his deeply human portrayal of Jim shows his abiding belief that all men are created equal.

In this book, there is a jarring observation early on. Hank decides that the denizens of Arthur’s England are “savages,” directly analogous to the Native Americans of his time. So, ouch, a bad stereotype, and not exactly an accurate one. But Hank is equally clear that he believes that in both cases, the cause is a lack of education, not an unbridgeable deficit, and that both would be equally “civilized” with that deficit remedied. For its time, that was nothing less than a radical idea. Likewise, Twain draws direct comparisons between the oppression of the serfs in England and the oppression of free Blacks through sharecropping and segregation in his own America. Again, very radical for his time, when it was still taken for granted by most that non-whites were genetically inferior and thus should be kept from mixing with the superior race.

Twain’s philosophy - or at least Hank’s philosophy - is also very pro-science. To our postmodern ears, sometimes this seems a bit optimistic. After all, we have lived through two world wars and the Cold War. (Although, as Raymond Aron pointed out, the parts of the globe that have enjoyed the most peace in the last half century are the ones that have superpowers with nukes aimed at each other…) On the other hand, though, Twain was right. We should celebrate the fact that superstition is increasingly superseded by knowledge. For Twain, who grew up in the age after the Smallpox vaccine was developed, the idea that whole families - whole communities - would succumb to that disease was horrifying. A return to the idea that incantations work better than vaccines would not be an improvement. (Um, anti vaxxers, take note…) Modern sewer and water systems likewise are a blessing brought to us by a scientific understanding of germ theory. Science doesn’t solve every problem, obviously, but it has made vast improvements to our lives.

The second part, though, is also valuable. Twain believed strongly in human rights, the dignity of all, regardless of sex, race, wealth, or religion. Hank isn’t just intent on introducing technological advances to Arthur’s England, he wants to bring the core values of human rights, freedom of religion, freedom of speech, freedom of thought, equality under the law, representative government, just laws, and empathy to that society as well. And Twain wishes to bring them to his own, affirming the primacy of these core values to the ideal American society and government. To a large degree, those of us with these Enlightenment values have the same goals as Twain. We too wish to see that sort of a society, informed by truth, driven by empathy, and devoted to equality and justice.

That Hank fails is a given. After all, had he succeeded, he would have changed history, and we would be speaking of Arthur’s England in the 6th Century as one of the great democracies. But he almost succeeds. And he would have succeeded had he been able to break the hold of superstition. Today, we too face that challenge. “Alternative Facts” are still widely believed, and many cling to a belief in some form of “karma” as a better explanation of what is better termed “injustice” - something that the prophets and Christ himself spoke about - as did many of the church fathers. Twain’s tale is a reminder that positive change doesn’t just happen by magic. People have to go out and make it happen by reforming institutions, educating, changing laws and society to protect the vulnerable and limit the power of those would oppress others. Infrastructure doesn’t grow, it is built, whether physical like sewers and roads, institutional like schools and hospitals, or metaphysical like empathy.

A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court suffers a bit from some long winded sections. It isn’t as tightly written as his very best works. It is also a transition between his more obviously humorous works and the sharp satire of later writings, so it has a peculiar mix of hilarious farce and bitter edged rants against deserving targets. But despite the flaws, it is a worthy work, ahead of its time politically, and perceptive of the faults of societies past and present.

My older son particularly enjoyed this book, and got more of the satire than I expected. I think it was a bit over the head of my youngest, but she laughed at the slapstick moments. The hilarious spoofs on chivalry and quests are classic, and never grow old. My eldest had to head home for school before she heard the end of it, so she will need to finish it on her own. This book is probably best for teens, but advanced tweens might find it interesting as well.  

The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County and Other Stories by Mark Twain

Source of book: I own this.

This is one of the weirder book-reading situations I have had since I started blogging. We actually started reading this book last March, while we were camping in the Gold Country. I brought it along because we would start the trip at New Melones Lake, in Calaveras County, just a few miles south of Angels Camp, where the incident allegedly took place. I didn’t realize it at the time, but we were literally across the road from where Twain’s cabin stood - just up at the top of the hill overlooking the canyon which is now the lake. Angels Camp, by the way, has little going for it other than Twain, which is why frog imagery is everywhere. This story IS the identity of this town, and they milk it for all it is worth. And who can blame them? But, while you are there checking out the frogs, the museum is really very nice and worth the few bucks to get in. Plenty of history.

So why write this review now? Well, we got busy on other things, and have had difficulty finishing it. I feel bad that I don’t read to the kids as much as I used to - although we have done a lot of audiobooks. The problem is that we have ended up using our evenings while my wife works to focus on science, and that has left less time for reading. Too much to do, too little time.

But anyway, the kids loved this book.

This book comes from my Reader’s Digest World’s Best Reading collection. These are decent quality hardbacks that I have painstakingly collected at library sales, used bookstores, and online (with help from my lovely wife) over the last 20+ years. Since it contains a number of stories of various length, I am going to address each one separately.

“The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County”

This is the best known Twain short story - and one of the best known stories in literature. Thus, I think it is no spoiler to discuss the plot. This tall tale, supposedly heard by Twain from an old miner in Angel’s Camp, is a classic in the American tradition of “tall tales.” While I have run across a few stories in this vein from elsewhere, this is a predominantly American literary form, and reflects part of our national character. (One of the better parts, I would say.) The idea too of the rambling teller of tales that never comes to the point, no matter how much the listener tries to prod him is also an American archetype. Likewise, the idea of sandbagging a contest is quite American. We have always had a soft spot for the loveable cheater, the man sharp enough to rip off the Devil himself.

Twain was probably the best author of tall tales, but others arose at the same time. I would recommend, for example, Bret Harte (who, like Twain, lived in the Gold Country and wrote about its denizens) and Ring Lardner. The kids did find the story amusing, and it fit well with visiting the reconstructed cabin up on Gold Hill.

“The Man That Corrupted Hadleyburg”

My second daughter (the cynical and macabre one) really loved this story. To be honest, I liked it too when I first read it as a kid - and it seems darkly appropriate these days.

A stranger passes through Hadleyburg, a town renowned for its uprightness, where its citizens are trained from birth to be honest and upright. Something happens, though, and the stranger is offended - the story never tells us exactly how, but hints that Hadleyburg didn’t care about the opinion of others. I kind of presume that the offense was self-righteousness in some form. The stranger swears revenge, and hatches an elaborate plot to make the town destroy itself.

He sends a bag containing a fortune in money, and instructions that it is for the man who did him a kindness. The person who did the kindness, of course, must identify himself by naming the kindness - in fact the specific words he said to the stranger - in order to claim the money. After a delay, the stranger then sent a letter to each of the leading citizens in town supposedly giving them the secret key to the mystery. However, it is incomplete, and the townspeople are exposed as liars as they each claim to know the phrase. However that phrase is incomplete.

One couple, however, is not exposed, due to an accident of fate. Their consciences are torn, but they cannot bring themselves to confess that they too were lying. They get the money, but it gives them no pleasure, they become paranoid, and they die soon after finally confessing their guilt.

The phrase, by the way, is, “"You are far from being a bad man—go, and reform—or, mark my words—some day, for your sins you will die and go to hell or Hadleyburg—try and make it the former.”

There is another line in this story, however, that I really love. John & Mary Richards - the couple that will eventually be driven mad by their guilt - are discussing the potential windfall. They are poor, and really could use the money. They are, unlike most of the citizens of Hadleyburg, acutely self aware, and it is impossible to not pity them as they too succumb. Early on, they discuss the problem that the town faces: it has been trained in honesty, but are weak, unprepared to face real ethical temptation.

“But Mary, you know how we have been trained all our lives long, like the whole village, till it is absolutely second nature to us to stop not a single moment to think when there’s an honest thing to be done--”

“Oh, I know it, I know it -- it’s been one everlasting training and training and training in honesty -- honesty shielded, from the very cradle, against every possible temptation, and so it’s artificial honesty, and weak as water when temptation comes, as we have seen this night. God knows I never had shade nor shadow of a doubt of my petrified and indestructible honesty until now -- and now, under the very first big and real temptation, I -- Edward, it is my belief that this town’s honesty is as rotten as mine is; as rotten as yours is. It is a mean town, a hard and stingy town, and hasn’t a virtue in the world but this honesty it is so celebrated for and so conceited about; and so help me, I do believe that if ever the day comes that its honesty falls under great temptation, its grand reputation will go to ruin like a house of cards.”

During my days in a certain cult group - and indeed in Homeschool culture as it later developed - it was obvious that Twain, like Hawthorne, was persona non grata for his skewering of religious hypocrisy. But Twain got what many of the religious of his day - and ours - did not. When Huck Finn struggles with his conscience as to whether to turn in his friend Jim, a runaway slave, his religion tells him to follow the law and betray Jim. Huck rejects this, and decides he would rather go to hell than betray his own compassionate values. And I think this is what Twain is getting at here. Hadleyburg has spent its years breeding self-righteous “honesty” at the expense of compassion. “A mean town, a hard and stingy town,” as Mary realizes.

And, as I also have noted over my years in this life, building walls around ourselves to keep from temptation doesn’t in fact make us strong. The more we try to protect ourselves - and our children - from contamination, the less truly moral we become. And the more we keep ourselves from the “undesireables,” the more we substitute self-righteousness for compassion. I would argue that this last election is merely the final step in that conversion.

This is definitely one of Twain’s finest stories, and one that stays with you forever after you read it.

“A Dog’s Tale”

Oh boy, this one is a doozy. I did not remember this one at all, and got part way in before realizing this story may or may not be appropriate for children. Twain was vehemently opposed to vivisection, and wrote this story in an attempt to expose the horrors. Basically, this is a mother dog’s viewpoint of her puppy having hits brains pulped while it is alive. Yes, we finished the story. My kids are pretty used to difficult topics, and I would rather they be aware that sheltered. But caution on this one, your kids might not handle it well.

“A Fable”

This short, well, fable in the vein of Aesop, is about the nature of perception and the way our own biases affect it. A group of animals discover a mirror lying on the ground, and think it is a hole. But they cannot agree about what is in the hole, because they see themselves reflected. As the cat, the only one crafty enough to understand what has happened, gives the moral, “You can find in a text whatever you bring, if you will stand between it and the mirror of your imagination.”

As many have noted about the Bible, if you want to burn witches, you’ll find justification. If you want to feed the hungry and welcome the immigrant, that is there too. What you choose says more about yourself than anything else….

“The Story of the Good Little Boy” and “The Story of the Bad Little Boy”

These two are a matched set. To best understand them requires a knowledge of the popular moralist genre from the Victorian Era. Twain skewers the genre, while also satirizing the times in which he lived. The “Good Little Boy” is a Pharisee - he wants nothing more than to have his picture in a Sunday School book someday as a hero. And instead of rising, everything goes wrong, and bad things happen to him. That’s fairly typical Twain - goody-goody little brother Sid from Tom Sawyer is perhaps the best portrayal of that sort of person.

The Bad Little Boy is a bit more complex, however. Twain doesn’t appear to approve of him either, even though he succeeds. Rather, Twain takes an opportunity to point out that being a horrible person was a pretty good way to succeed in the Gilded Age. Corruption, dishonesty, bullying, and general atrocious behavior was a path to success, not censure. Sounds a bit familiar.

“The £1,000,000 Bank Note”

This is another of Twain’s humorous yet pointed tales. Two wealthy London brothers decide to make a bet as to what would happen if they gave a random person a million pound bank note with the instructions that he was to pay it back in 30 days. The note and instructions were handed to the narrator, and the agent for the brothers disappeared without a trace. Also in the instructions was the mention of the bet (but no clue as to what the bet was) and a promise that if the recipient caused the one brother to win the bet, then the recipient would be given a job of his choice.

With a gigantic bit of currency in his pocket - but no way of spending it - the narrator sets out to figure out how to leverage this bit of good or bad luck. After all, showing up with a single bill worth about $100 million in today’s money isn’t helpful. Nobody can give you change, and walking up to a bank with it may get you arrested.

How the narrator turns the bill to his advantage is both humorous and perceptive, as it is the leverage of human nature that will cause success or failure. To a degree, Twain is pointing out that appearing wealthy can get you almost as far as being wealthy - and that privilege itself is more of an advantage than we appreciate.

“Jim Baker’s Bluejay Yarn”

My kids (with the exception of the cynical child) liked this story best. Another tall tale, it has endured in various forms throughout our culture. (Most notable is the Chip and Dale cartoon.) A blue jay sees a knothole in some wood, and tries to fill it with acorns for the winter. But it never seems to get full. Because, of course, it is a hole in the side of a cabin - and even a hundred jays probably couldn’t fill that up.

A few years back, we actually saw something similar. Out here, we have Acorn Woodpeckers (among the dozen or so species of woodpeckers), who peck out holes in dead trees and store acorns in there. While camping, a bird kept filling up this hole in the side of a metal power pole. You could hear it rattle down to the bottom. Over and over. But filling a hollow pole a foot wide and 40 feet tall is tough.

“A Medieval Romance”

This is an unusual story, to say the least. It is a twist on the inheritance drama, and a statement on gender roles.

Two brothers wish to have their progeny inherit the throne. The older brother’s child will get the job, unless she is female and the younger brother’s child is male.

So, the younger brother names his daughter Conrad and raises her as a male. The two of them grow up, and things happen. Constance, the rightful heir to the throne, falls in love with a man who abandons her after impregnating her. Before this comes to light, Constance falls in love with Conrad, but Conrad spurns her for obvious reasons.

Then, when the illegitimate child comes to light, Constance will be subject to the death penalty. Unless, and only if the king pardons her. Conrad takes the risk of assuming the Ducal throne to pronounce judgment - it can only be done from there - knowing that if she is exposed as female, she will die. Conrad offers pardon if Constance will name the father. Constance, still smarting from her rejection by Conrad, names Conrad as the father.

Twain ends the story with Conrad fainting, and leaves it to the reader to extricate the parties from the mess Twain got them in.

“The $30,000 Bequest”

Twain was fascinated with money and its effects. Like Hadleyburg and the million pound note, this story explores the way money changes people. A hardworking middle class woman is told by a rich relative that he will leave them $30,000 on his death. Provided, however, that she could prove to the executors that she had not mentioned the gift to anyone, had not inquired about his health, and did not attend the funeral. This would be a boon to her and her family, and they are excited, but of course cannot tell anyone.

Unfortunately, this “wealth” changes them. They begin to build castles in the sky and imaginary investments that eventually build to an impossible sum. It is a stock market bubble in their own minds. And it crashes in their own minds too. But in real life, they begin to live as if they were rich, no longer living below their means, or content to be ordinary people.

When the bequest ultimately turns out to be a fraud, their world crashes down.

“The McWilliamses and the Burglar Alarm”

Another tall tale, about the burglar alarm from hell. After meeting a burglar in his house, the McWilliamses decide to get an alarm, which turns out to wake them up at night and yet literally allows the burglars to use the top floor as their base of operations.

This is Twain in his slapstick mode, taking things to a ridiculous extreme. But also, it is hilarious for another reason: the formal dialogue between Mr. McWilliams and the burglars.

“Then one night we smelled smoke, and I was advised to get up and see what the matter was. I lit a candle, and started toward the stairs, and met a burglar coming out of a room with a basket of tinware, which he had mistaken for solid silver in the dark. He was smoking a pipe. I said, 'My friend, we do not allow smoking in this room.' He said he was a stranger, and could not be expected to know the rules of the house: said he had been in many houses just as good as this one, and it had never been objected to before. He added that as far as his experience went, such rules had never been considered to apply to burglars, anyway.

"I said: 'Smoke along, then, if it is the custom, though I think that the conceding of a privilege to a burglar which is denied to a bishop is a conspicuous sign of the looseness of the times. But waiving all that, what business have you to be entering this house in this furtive and clandestine way, without ringing the burglar alarm?'

"He looked confused and ashamed, and said, with embarrassment: 'I beg a thousand pardons. I did not know you had a burglar alarm, else I would have rung it. I beg you will not mention it where my parents may hear of it, for they are old and feeble, and such a seemingly wanton breach of the hallowed conventionalities of our Christian civilization might all too rudely sunder the frail bridge which hangs darkling between the pale and evanescent present and the solemn great deeps of the eternities. May I trouble you for a match?'__

"I said: 'Your sentiments do you honor, but if you will allow me to say it, metaphor is not your best hold. Spare your thigh; this kind light only on the box, and seldom there, in fact, if my experience may be trusted. But to return to business: how did you get in here?'

"'Through a second-story window.'

“It was even so. I redeemed the tinware at pawnbroker's rates, less cost of advertising, bade the burglar good-night, closed the window after him, and retired to headquarters to report.”

“Was It Heaven or Hell?”

This is kind of a “The Lady or the Tiger” sort of story, and a bit moralizing to boot. Basically, daughter is raised by mom and the aunts who are insistent that she never, ever lie no matter what the circumstances. Then mother and daughter both fall ill, and each is counting on the other to live to continue their fight. A moral dilemma ensues, and there is the question of heaven or hell for the participants.

This wasn’t my favorite story, as I felt Twain handled it with a heavier touch than most of his satire. It felt clumsy.

“Extract from Captain Stormfield’s Visit to Heaven”

This one, on the other hand, is brilliant. It is a great takedown of common tropes about the afterlife, from the harps and clouds to the need of some to experience celebrity for their conversions. Twain is actually fairly respectful of religion in this one, but gently laughs at a lot of the silliness that it can inspire. Particularly perceptive is the distinction between those quietly good to others, such as a man who fed the poor without anyone knowing, and those whose ostentation of their virtue find themselves either disappointed in their reception or oblivious to the fact that others are laughing behind their backs at their silly pomp. Twain also makes the point - which I find quite good - is that you can’t escape yourself, even in heaven. Some can manage to make heaven itself their own hell.

Twain wrote a whole lot more stories than this - the complete collection would be a much bigger book. However, these are certainly among his best, and a good place to start. Mark Twain did a lot to shape my own thinking during my childhood. My mother read us Huckleberry Finn when we were pretty young, and we discussed the racial and religious issues as a result. If I were to trace my own views on many of these issues, they were inculcated by my parents at this time. A sense of justice, and the need for a Christian to have empathy for those outside of race and religion. Books by authors like Twain were an important part of developing empathy and seeing issues from the perspective of others. I also believe that Twain opened my eyes at a young age to the fact that those outside the Christian bubble see us differently. And, contrary to the “alternative facts” offered by the White Evangelical Persecution Industrial Complex, our poor reputation has nothing to do with our faith itself, but our tendency to be “mean, hard, and stingy” to those outside our tribe.

***

Pictures:

 Reconstructed Mark Twain cabin on Gold Hill

Water Wagon at the Angel's Camp Museum. 

Plenty of great vehicles and equipment on display.

The Gilded Age by Mark Twain and Charles Dudley Warner

Source of book: I own this

This book is a joint effort by Mark Twain, who needs no introduction; and Charles Dudley Warner, who does. 

 Charles Dudley Warner

Warner was a critic, essayist, novelist, and editor who was reasonably well known in his day, but has since faded into obscurity. He left, however, two significant legacies in addition to this book. First, his travelogue about Southern California, Our Italy, said so many nice things about San Diego that he is honored by no fewer than three streets in the Point Loma neighborhood. (Naturally, "Charles Street," "Dudley Street," and "Warner Street.")

(Side note: I am from SoCal, and love San Diego, so I am completely unsurprised that Warner found it to be a nice place.)

The second legacy was his famous aphorism, “Everybody complains about the weather, but nobody does anything about it.”

Ironically, this quote is often misattributed to Mark Twain.

The Gilded Age in fact gave the name to The Gilded Age, the period of expansion, corruption, and excess following the Civil War. I became interested in this book as a result of reading Railroaded: The Transcontinentals and the Making of Modern America, which mentions this novel as being on point.

Had I read this book before Railroaded, I would have attributed Twain and Warner’s description of the corruption, graft, and bribery in congress to a purposeful hyperbole, an exaggeration to make a point.

Having read the actual evidence - including the writings of those involved - which was carefully documented in Railroaded, I believe that Twain and Warner actually understated the level of corruption.

Like any collaborative book, The Gilded Age is a bit uneven in quality. In general, the Twain authored portions (and you can usually tell the difference) are better - and more biting - than than the Warner authored passages. The need to create a coherent plot (and really, tie the competing plots together) lead to some interesting compromises. In addition, there are some standard Victorian tropes which are a bit tiresome. First, the inevitable corruption and destruction of the beautiful but too-assertive woman. Second, the love triangle resulting in another woman left to pine away on her own. Third, the easy disposal of a character by sending him off to a “foreign” destination lest he figure in the plot. (In this case, San Francisco stands in for Paris or Rome.)

Twain’s plot follows the Hawkins family from their impoverished beginnings to their, well, impoverished state at the end of the book. Two children are adopted as they move west, and these two play key roles an effort is made to lobby the US government to purchase the land, thus making the family wealthy.

in the drama. At the heart of this story is the attempt to sell a large plot of undeveloped land. Eventually,

An interesting fact about this plot is that it takes inspiration from a real event in Twain’s life. His family likewise owned a parcel of land that they believed was immensely valuable, despite all evidence to the contrary. Likewise, a key character in the novel, “Colonel” Beriah Sellers, was patterned after one of Twain’s relatives. More about him later.

In contrast, Warner’s plot follows the fortunes of two young upper class friends, Henry and Philip, who head west to survey the land in advance of the railroad, and (they hope) acquire land which they can sell for a profit. Henry is shallow but charming, while Philip is hard working but a bit dull.

The plots come together in Hawkeye, where the Hawkins’ live. Henry becomes enamoured of the gorgeous Laura, and becomes a companion of Beriah Sellers, a figure sort of like Mr. Micawber from David Copperfield, who is always speculating, sure something will “turn up.” Unlike Micawber, though, Sellers continually has his hand in some sort of a speculation or scheme. He is quick to find ways to bring others on board, being a natural salesman. However, his judgment is lacking, and everyone - including himself - ends up going bust. Sellers not only mirrored Twain’s relative, I suspect many of us can name a friend or relative like him. The person who is mostly harmless, has good intentions, but is always seeking a “get-rich-quick” scheme. More often than not, such a person gets himself and those around him in difficulties of some sort or another.

While Philip searches for coal in a joint venture with his eventual father-in-law, the rest head to Washington to attempt to arrange a sale of the Tennessee property to the government, in what amounts to a pretty clear swindle. The second half of the book, thus, primarily concerns the political gamesmanship over the bill and the dirty politics that accompanies anything in Congress. As I noted before, the book is every bit as cynical as anything said about politics here in the 21st Century, but it turns out that it was accurate! (I noted in my review of Railroaded that today’s politicians are amateurs compared to those of the past. The total amount of land given away to the railroads - to say nothing of the loan guarantees and direct payments - would have been the third largest state in the union - nearly the size of Texas.)

Twain details all of the dirty deals needed to make this happen. The backdoor quid pro quo, the clothing of a swindle in the language of virtue and charity. The enrollment of religious organizations.

Your religious paper is by far the best vehicle for a thing of this kind, because they’ll ‘lead’ your article and put it right in the midst of the reading matter; and if it’s got a few Scripture quotations in it, and some temperance platitudes and a bit of gush here and there about Sunday Schools, and a sentimental snuffle now and then about ‘God’s precious ones, the honest hard-handed poor,’ it works the nation like a charm, my dear sir, and never a man suspects that it is an advertisement…

The more things change, I guess. While an appeal to “the poor” isn’t particularly effective in today’s Christianity, an appeal to fear and “the children” remains the key way that unholy marriages of religion and politics are consummated.

Religion isn’t the only institution that gets a barb, though. Clearly Twain reserves his bitterest ire for Congress and politics. But the press doesn’t exactly get off easy either, as Twain points out its love of sensation and easy cooption. But there is some pity too. Even when the press gets it right, it isn’t effective.

Senator Dilworthy: “Give us newspaper persecution enough, and we are safe. Vigorous persecution will alone carry a bill sometimes, dear...And then presently, it changes the tide of public opinion. The great public is weak-minded; the great public is sentimental; the great public always turns around and weeps for an odious murderer, and prays for him, and carries flowers to his prison and besieges the governor with appeals for his clemency, as soon as the papers begin to howl for his blood...

One interesting historical anachronism that political junkies will appreciate: When this book was written, United States Senators were “elected” by the State legislatures, unlike now, when they are elected by popular statewide vote. This meant that Dilworthy, in his re-election campaign, had to schmooze with his fellow legislators, plus go out to the public to ensure that his allies at the state level would retain their seats.

Since this book was co-written by Twain, there are naturally some great quotable lines.

In the preface, Twain takes aim at the all-too-common practice of critics:

We do not object to criticism; and we do not expect that the critic will read the book before writing a notice of it. We do not even expect the reviewer of the book will say that he has not read it.

Early in the novel, Twain writes a set-piece about a steamboat race. Like a few other bits in the novel, this was based on a real event. A couple of captains decide to show off, racing each other down the river. As a result, one boiler explodes, destroying the boat and killing dozens of people. Twain describes the aftermath:

A jury of inquest was impaneled, and after due deliberation and inquiry they returned the inevitable American verdict which has been so familiar to our ears all the days of our lives - “Nobody to blame.”

While in the decades to follow, the civil law would fill this gap to a degree, holding the deep pockets, at least, accountable for needless deaths, the statement still all too often applies to the criminal courts. One cannot but think of the Eric Garner case as one where a senseless and unnecessary death resulted in a “Nobody to blame” verdict.

Another set-piece that Twain carries off extremely well is a scene in which Laura, with some time to kill, enters a bookstore manned by a thoroughly stupid clerk, who knows nothing of books beyond the current thrillers and low-class joke books. Laura absolutely takes him down, but he only sort of gradually figures out how badly he is being dissed. I considered quoting some of it, but it is too long for a simple review, and is best read in context. Definitely, this was the best part of the book. (I’m sure this book is available free online. Chapter 36.)

The final section that I found quite interesting was a scene between Philip and his eventual wife, Ruth. She is the daughter of a somewhat progressive Quaker family - her father has defied the judgment of his fellow Quakers to allow Ruth to study to become a physician. As she and Philip contemplate a life together, the usual issues come up. I can attest to the fact that the same questions which Warner addresses in 1873 are still the ones couples like my wife and I have had to work through 130 years later. Ruth starts it off, discussing the fate that unattached women have in the world:

“[T]he worst of it is that you men do not want women educated to do anything, to be able to earn an honest living by their own exertions. They are educated as if they were always to be petted and supported, and there was never to be any such thing as misfortune. I suppose, now, that you would all choose to have me stay idly at home, and give up my profession.”

“Oh, no,” said Philip, earnestly, “I respect your resolution. But, Ruth, do you think you would be happier or do more good in following your profession than in having a home of your own?”

“What is to hinder having a home of my own?”

“Nothing, perhaps, only you never would be in it - you would be away day and night, if you had any practice; and what sort of a home would that make for your husband?”

“What sort of a home is it for the wife whose husband is always away riding about in his doctor’s gig?”

“Ah, you know that is not fair, The woman makes the home.”

And thus is the entire issue laid out for all to see. Philip, despite being a truly nice guy, still believes in a male-centric viewpoint. The question is what sort of a home she will make for him. The woman makes the home. The idea that he might share even equal responsibility for making a home doesn’t even register. And he considers the choice between home and family on the one hand, and a career on the other, to be a choice she faces. But not him. Never the man, as Ruth points out.

On the one hand, it is amazing that this feminist of a statement was made in the 1870s, not in a feminist writing, but casually, in a novel. On the other, it is discouraging that women are still expected to have the sole, or at least, primary, responsibility for household duties, regardless of whatever else they are doing with their lives. While our society grants women the right to participate in the workforce, there is still a huge stigma for men who “homemake.” And a messy house is always blamed on the woman, even if she works longer hours.

As I said, these are issues that my wife and I have had to address ourselves, and our decisions have not always met with enthusiasm from others.

I give Warner great brownie points, though, for writing a strong female character, one far more intriguing than the tragic Laura; and for noting the key question when it comes to the heart of feminism (the social, political, and economic equality of women): in order for feminism to “work,” men need to take on an equal share of what is still considered “women’s work.” We need to feel an equal responsibility to make a house a home, care for our children, and do the unpraised things that keep the world humming along.

A couple of other things I liked: the authors “pretentiously” put quotes from other sources at the headings of the chapters. In essence, they mock the pseudo-scholarliness of others. While some of the quotes are standard, they also pick ones from obscure languages and cultures, even going so far as to quote translations of the Bible into Native American and African languages. Some feel like the equivalent of translating a pointless Shakespeare quote into Sanskrit just to look smart. Which is exactly the point. The other thing I’ll admit I liked was the way that Warner drew out the subtleties of Ruth’s parents trying to straddle the line between Quaker orthodoxy and the modern needs of their children. It would have been interesting to have more than a couple of chapters devoted to them, as they were the most subtle, and therefore interesting, characters in the book.

So there it is: an interesting book on a fascinating era. Twain and Warner don’t really delve into the other issues that later historians have noted: industrialization and monopolies, but they certainly had the pulse of the national political machine in all its ugliness. In addition, there are individual characters and scenes that are unforgettable. Despite its flaws, this is a worthy book. Twain’s acid humor is evident, and Warner’s more subtle treatment of religious and social issues were also noteworthy. Unfortunately, the two authors seemed to have different and conflicting visions for the book, which made it feel a bit incoherent as it went on. Still, I would consider it worth the effort to read.