Simple Living Isn’t Always

My friend Cameron and I embarked on an ambitious project last April: read 101 books in 1001 days. Ambitious not because of the reading, which is daunting enough, but because of what we chose to read. Over the course of several days, we worked out a list that included works from every period of history since humankind wrote down its stories.

I’ve been having some second thoughts, partly because I see the days ticking away and the books not even appearing on my bedside pile. So I’ve been thinking revision for a while, and slowly doing some work in that direction. I’m still tweaking it, but in seeking to revise my list, I’ve been reviewing some of the other lists out there. I thought it would be, um, humbling to publish the lists and my current totals of books read.

1. Arguably the first of the bunch, the one that set off a wildfire of controversy (and a string of imitators), is the one the Modern Library developed. Some of the criticisms? The usual po-mo suspects: too many male judges, too many male authors, too few everyone else. Whether it’s a tool of WASP hegemony or not, it’s a useful place to start. My total reads on this list? An abysmal 15.

2. In response to the pros’ list, the Modern Library allowed readers to vote on their own list. It’s decidedly less classic. But it can’t exactly be called “popular” either. In fact, there’s a lot of weird stuff here–Ayn Rand, Robert Heinlein, Charles de Lint, and L. Ron Hubbard dominate the list–which probably just says something about the people participating in Internet polls at the time. Still there’s some crossover from the main list, and genuine classics do appear. But there’s no way Battlefield Earth deserves to be mentioned in the same breath with the word “classic.” I do a little better on this list: 22. Which disturbs me a little.

3. Another, more reputable, response came from Radcliffe’s Publishing Course. There’s a little more popular influence (The Hitchhiker’s Guide is #72), but overall, the novels are respectable. The most obvious difference is the inclusion of more women authors (none that seem out of place, frankly) and more children’s literature (Charlotte’s Web is #13). My total: 20.

3. Not to be outdone, TIME Magazine got in on the act with the Top 100 novels since 1923. An odd choice of starting date, but it’s a companion piece to their Top 100 movies list. The influence of the movie age is apparent, as the list is very eclectic, including children’s literature (e.g., Lewis’s The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe), sci-fi (Gibson’s Neuromancer, spy novels (The Spy Who Came in From the Cold), even graphic novels (Allan Moore’s Watchmen). I did very poorly, only 13.

4. The problem with all these lists is a certain “time-ism”: all are lists of 20th century novels. While the novel as a genre isn’t all that old —Don Quixote, perhaps the first, was written in 1605—it’s certainly older than the last century. But hey, Western culture does not really appreciate the past all that much.

After a little searching, I found an all-time novels list, compiled in the book The Novel 100 by David Burt. His definition of a novel is particularly intriguing (and probably worth more exploration, but not here): He writes, “The novel as a distinct genre attempts a synthesis between romance and realism, between a poetic, imaginative alternative to actuality and a more authentic representation.” Consequently, the field is narrowed a bit even before the selections. Some acknowledged classics do not make the list because they are too fantastical (Gargantua and Pantagruel and The Pilgrim’s Progress). And he excludes others (e.g., Heart of Darkness) because they are too short. Even with these restrictions, I do better than I expected: 13.

So what has this exercise shown me? One, human beings love lists. There is in making a list (even one developed by a panel) a certain satisfaction. It scratches the itch of self-centeredness and pride that was effected by the Fall. A best-of list says, first of all, that someone not only can be, but is the authority on “whatever.” Whether it’s the best vampire films of all time, best pipe tobaccos, or best cupcakes, someone has thought of and posted a list.

That last point—that the list is posted—illustrates the second point. It’s not enough to make a list; we want to share it, even impose it, on others. In short, we automatically think someone cares. One need not be as obnoxious as Barry, the music Nazi in Nick Hornby’s High Fidelity, to impose his taste on the world at large. After all, the Internet gives everyone a platform. (Hey, even this blog presumes that someone has any interest whatsoever in what interests me. The amount of time I’ve invested in this post betrays a bit of my own self-centeredness, my desire to be known.)

These painful facts notwithstanding, I’m still going to finish my list. If you think there’s a book I simply must read, whether it’s fiction or nonfiction, I’d be interested to know. And while I finish it, I’m going to keep reading.