A Vanity of Reading
In college, I saved money by checking course books out of the library whenever it was possible, rather than buying the latest “critical edition” from the bookstore. (This was a lot easier in the English and History classes that made up the bulk of my education; science students get, as far as I can tell, fucked.)
There’d be occasional inconsistencies between page numbers and footnotes and the like that mildly irritated some of my professors, but for the most part they were sympathetic to the “I can’t actually afford to buy nineteen ‘critical edition’ novels at $25 a pop this semester” argument. Bless their hearts.
As a result, I tend to associate the dry-and-dusty literature of American history with equally dry-and-dusty volumes, preferably ones in tough, plain-colored library bindings with the little white-stamped titles on the spine. And this has led to a peculiar vanity: that shamelessly misrepresented copy of The House of the Seven Gables I blogged about last week has been an unexpectedly unsettling thing to read in public.
For those that can’t be bothered to click through, the book looks like this:
And it reads like this:
There were curtains to Phoebe’s bed; a dark, antique canopy, and ponderous festoons of a stuff which had been rich, and even magnificent, in its time; but which now brooded over the girl like a cloud, making a night in that one corner, while elsewhere it was beginning to be day. The morning light, however, soon stole into the aperture at the foot of the bed, betwixt those faded curtains. Finding the new guest there,–with a bloom on her cheeks like the morning’s own, and a gentle stir of departing slumber in her limbs, as when an early breeze moves the foliage, –the dawn kissed her brow. It was the caress which a dewy maiden–such as the Dawn is, immortally–gives to her sleeping sister, partly from the impulse of irresistible fondness, and partly as a pretty hint that it is time now to unclose her eyes.
We discussed the incongruities in detail last week. At the time, however, I hadn’t assigned much personal significance to it beyond amusing blog fodder.
Turns out I’m susceptible to a deep literary vanity.
I deeply disliked reading this particular edition in public. I’m too fond of myself for self-consciousness, most of the time, but something about reading a “classic” that looks like pulp fantasy bothered me far more than actually reading pulp fantasy in public (which I’ve done on many an occasion).
Pure literary snobbishness. We all want to be seen as challenging ourselves, at some level — Gosh, he’s reading Hawthorne for fun. That’s a smart boy there!
I’d have denied it, of course, if it had somehow come up in conversation. I like The House of the Seven Gables, and all the other Hawthorne I’ve read over the course of my years too; I don’t need to impress anyone to enjoy it.
But I can’t deny the impulse to stop the barista as she sneaks a glance and say “It’s an American classic, I swear!”
Nosce te ipsum. Apparently I like my classics to look like classics. Makes you wonder if there’s a market for trashy science-fiction or romance novels done up in dusty leather jackets, doesn’t it?
That’s why Kindles (and all e-readers) are so wonderful — you can read anything at all on one of these devices and tell people you are reading Hawthorne. They won’t know.
By the way, before I became an e-book reader, I was particularly conscious of my books’ appearances. I preferred hardbacks because I thought they made me look like a serious reader — not just someone who bought their reading material at the grocery store. LOL
Ahhh, but then you have people like me (who overthink these things) watching you go by with your Kindle and thinking “eh, she’s probably reading porn.” Why else would you trade cheap, portable, durable paper for a fragile and expensive electronic burden, after all?
For many good and valid reasons, it turns out, but my mind’s still thinking “porn.” Now that I write it out, that seems more like a problem with me than with the Kindle, doesn’t it?
I see some validity to that thought. After all, I truly believe that a certain popular “erotica” series never would have sold the way it did if it weren’t for e-readers!
But, yes, it’s really more your problem.
I was right with you on the whole paper-vs.-Kindle thing – until I went overseas. I love real books, and I want them hardcover (or at least trade paperback; I can’t stand mass-produced paperback), and the simpler and more elegant, the better. But when you’re living out of a suitcase or two, it’s wonderful to have a hundred books at your disposal without actually having to schlep them around.
Wow. That is one hilarious Hawthorne edition. I never read The House of the Seven Gables, but I did read The Scarlet Letter. I’d love to see what this publisher would do to that.
As much as I would like to think that I wouldn’t suffer from a similar vanity, I definitely do. It’s not so much of a problem these days, since I tend to exclusively read “literary” novels now – but back when I was majoring in English lit, I found the need to read pretty horrific chick lit just to get a break from the overwhelming load of literature I had to read for university. And I never, ever took one with me on public transport, or to a cafe, or out in public at all!
My first reaction was “Oh, man, I wonder if there’s a ‘Scarlet Letter’ edition out there with a tarted-up, bodice-ripper style cover out there?”
My second reaction, obviously, was to Google it and see.
Can’t speak for print editions, but the movie version (starring Demi Moore) rises handily to the challenge:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Scarletlettermovieposter.jpg
Haha I was about to google it actually! That’s brilliant, I had no idea there was a movie version. No painfully tight corsets on show there, but a good amount of scandalously loosened clothing. 10/10
Maybe, but I think the publishers might latch on to other things like “Easy A” for the Scarlet Letterto make it appeal to a “modern” audience…funny and sad at the same time.
Hur hur hur, that Hester Prynn is an “easy A,” IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN.