What good is literature in times of trouble? It’s a question that comes to my mind, since I select the library’s adult fiction and nonfiction.
And when we are faced with national turmoil and a pandemic, I feel like the arts get the same scowling assessment that Falstaff gave to honor in Henry IV, Part 1: “Can honour set to a leg? No: or an arm? No: or take away the grief of a wound? No. Honour hath no skill in surgery, then? No.”
It’s true that we place great value on certain things that can sometimes seem to have no practical use at all. For Falstaff, honor was one of them — although I think plenty would dispute that honor cannot take away the grief of a wound. And certainly, the right novel, or piece of music, or work of art, can take away pain of hurting, whether it’s physical or emotional, and perhaps only for a while. Sometimes it’s through creating something that is unreal in its view of reality: we know that the world is not this way, but to envision things so for a time can be calming. As Hemingway has a character say in The Sun Also Rises, “‘Isn’t it pretty to think so?’”
Creating what "should be" can provide a model for what "ought to be." Flagrantly optimistic and — perhaps sometimes — naïve works like superhero comics or the various Star Trek series can push readers and viewers to understand how power should be used responsibly, and how good people can work together, despite differences.
Barring that, literature can protest. Literature can point out injustice.
Percy Shelly was incensed by the 1819 massacre of peaceful protestors in Manchester, England. He wrote the poem "The Masque of Anarchy," which has been an inspiration to nonviolent protestors since.
Jonathan Swift was horrified by the British government’s treatment of the poor; especially the Irish poor. He wrote the remarkably straight-faced satire "A Modest Proposal," to highlight an intense injustice. His proposal suggested solving the problem of the Irish poor in a manner his readers would find abhorrent (cannibalism), to point out how bad the situation was. Swift’s best known work, "Gulliver’s Travels," mocks the reasons people use to fight, argue, and go to war. In it, the kingdom of Lilliput has been subjected to six rebellions because of disputes over which end to crack an egg. Big end or little? Pick your side.
Literature can also provide perspective both to your own experiences and to others: both James Baldwin and Abraham Lincoln talked about how reading connected them, their feelings, and their life experiences to a greater history, and mitigated feelings of isolation and suffering. More recently, General James Mattis talks about the value of reading in his book "Call Sign Chaos."
“If you haven’t read hundreds of books, you are functionally illiterate, and you will be incompetent, because your personal experiences alone aren’t broad enough to sustain you," Mattis says.
General Mattis is a person with plenty of personal experience, too. For the rest of us, reading broadly is often our best option. This can expose us to new ideas and concepts, which then can help us in the physical world, too. I don’t think this means you always have to read heady, “intellectual” stuff — there’s plenty that you can take away from whatever you read.
Robert Mixner is a reference librarian at the Bartholomew County Public Library and can be reached at [email protected]
