Wu Cfreng-en^ novel clearly is grounded in an oral tradi- tion, and it really demands the kind of leisurely presentation that oral narration imposes on a story. It doesn't necessarily lend itself to the kind of straight-through assault that is the modern approach to reading a book. I would recommend that you start with Arthur Waley's wonderfully translated and greatly condensed version, published under the title Monkey; later on spend some time at least browsing in Anthony Yu's masterful complete translation, published as Journey to the West by the University of Chicago Press.
J.S.M.
MICHEL EYQUEM DE MONTAIGNE
1533-1592
Selected Essays
Many names on our list are far greater than Montaigne's. But the view of life he represents is so deeply rooted in many of us that, while more powerful minds retain interest only for schol- ars, he will continue to capture the attention of the average intelligent reader. He appeals to that part of us more fasci- nated by the questions than by the answers.
Montaigne, one of the pioneers of modern French prose, was of good merchant-family stock. On his mothers side he was partly Jewish. Apparently there was sufficient money in the family to permit him on his thirty-eighth birthday to semi- retire to his round tower on the family property. In a period when educational experimentation was generally popular, his own education was unusual. Until he was six he spoke only Latin. He tells us that he was awakened each morning by "the sound of a musical instrument,,> an anticipation of our clock rбdios. He studied law, occupied a magistrate^ seat in the Bordeaux parliament, served in various capacities under three French kings, and during his later years wasted some of his genius on a job, the mayoralty of Bordeaux, fit only for medioc- rity. His real life is preserved in his Essays. Of these there are 107, if we include the book-lengtji Apology for Raymond Sebond. As far as we can determine, they were written, and rewritten, from his thirty-ninth year, after he had withdrawn to a life of tranquil study and contemplation, to the year of his death.
As he says in his preliminary word to the reader, they were composed not for fame, favor, or fortune, but merely to por- tray himself, in ali candor and indiscretion. For this purpose he invented a new form of literature, as important in its way as the internai combustion engine, and far more pleasant. The
French word essai means literally a trial or attempt. Each essay is a trial of the content of his mind, an attempt to find out what is there so that, though he may know nothing else, he may at least know himself.
Montaigne's essays are not like those we find in our better magazines today. They are formless, they rarely stick to the announced subject, and they are chock-full of classical quota- tions; for Montaigne, in addition to being a man of practical affairs, was a learned humanist. The modern reader may at first find these obstacles irritating.
However, if the evidence of four centuries of survival is any indication, you will eventually be won over by Montaigne's charm, wisdom, humor, style, and mental slant. He began as a Stoic (see Marcus Aurelius [21]) but soon developed a gener- ally skeptical, though never cynical or negative, view of mankind. He was interested in everything, convinced of nothing. His motto was "What do I know?" His emblem was a pair of balances. He remained a good Catholic, because he was born one, and died in the odor of sanctity. But the tendency of his extremely influential writings has been to encourage the growth of free thought. In his characteristic gesture of sus- pended judgment, dogmatists will find little pleasure.
Montaigne's charm inheres in his style, that of the frankest, freest conversation, "simple and unaffected, the same in writ- ing as on the tongue." He is particularly candid on matters of sex, and those of us who are used to the naive obsessions of some modern novelists may find it interesting to see what a grown-up man has to say on the subject. Montaigne is not only the first informal essayist but incomparably the best. His art is always concealed. The man he gives you is never an improved version submitted for public approval, but always and forever himself. He writes as if he were continually enjoying himself, his weaknesses and oddities and stupidities no less than his virtues.
You may wander about almost at will in Montaigne. He should be read as he wrote, unsystematically. However, time has winnowed out certain of the essays as superior or more important. For the nearest thing to a reasoned defense of his skeptical position, see the rather long-drawn-out Apology for Raymond Sebond. In addition you might tick off the following, whose very titles will give you a good foretaste of Montaigne.
From Book 1: That intention is judge of our actions; Of idleness; Of liars; That the taste of good and evil depends in large part on the opinion we have of them; That to philoso- phize is to learn to die; Of the power of the imagination; Of custom, and not easily changing an accepted law; Of the edu- cation of children; Of friendship; Of moderation; Of cannibals; Of solitude; Of the inequality that is between us; Of ancient customs; Of Democritus and Heraclitus; Of vain subtleties; Of age.
From Book 2: Of the inconsistency of our actions; Of drunkenness; Of practice; Of the affection of fathers for their children; Of books; Of presumption; Of a monstrous child; Of the resemblance of children to fathers.
From Book 3: Of the useful and the honorable; Of three kinds of association; On some verses of Virgil; Of the art of dis- cussion; Of vanity; Of experience.
Try to get a modern translation, such as Trechmann's or, better, either Donald Frame's or M. A. Screech's. Avoid Cotton^ version; it is an antique.
C.F.
38
MIGUEL DE CERVANTES SAAVEDRA
1547-1616 Don Quixote
Don Quixote is one of the few books on our list that may prof- itably be read in an abridged (but, please, not a bowdlerized or children's) version. Walter Starkie has done a good job along this line. However, if you use, as I suggest, a complete transla- tion, do some skipping. Whenever (or almost whenever) you come to a goatherd or a shepherdess, some drivel lies ahead. Skip ali the interpolated pastoral yarns that pleased Cervantes's audience but bore us stiff. Skip every bit of verse you meet; Cervantes is one of the world's worst poets. Finally, use only a modern translation—Cohen's or Starkie's or, best of ali, Putnan^s. Post-finally, do not be put off by an occasional tedious passage or chapter in Part 1. Persist to Part 2. It is by far the greater. Even the finest writers sometimes have to edu- cate themselves through the mйdium of their own creation, and apparently that is what happened to this poor, maimed ex- soldier Cervantes. From writing about Don Quixote and Sancho Panza he learned how great they really were. Ten years elapsed between the publication of the two parts, and those ten years made a difference in Cervantes's genius.
These warnings are needed because, like Paradise Lost [45] and The Divine Comedy [30], Don Quixote is one of those books more reverenced than read, more lauded than enjoyed. It has had its ups and downs. Perhaps it reached its peak of popularity in the eighteenth century—you will see how much it meant to Laurence Sterne [58], for example. It is not so widely read in our time. Still, the fact remains that, after the Bible, it is one of the half-dozen books in the world most widely translated and studied. And for this there must be good reasons.