Quotable

From Ger­ald Stan­ley Lee’s The Lost Art of Read­ing, 1902:

The pop­u­la­tion of the civilised world today may be divided into two classes,—millionaires and those who would like to be mil­lion­aires. The rest are artists, poets, tramps, and babies—and do not count. Poets and artists do not count until after they are dead. Tramps are put in prison. Babies are expected to get over it. A few more sum­mers, a few more winters—with short skirts or with down on their chins—they shall be seen bur­row­ing with the rest of us.

One almost won­ders some­times, why it is that the sun keeps on year after year and day after day turn­ing the globe around and around, heat­ing it and light­ing it and keep­ing things grow­ing on it, when after all, when all is said and done (crowded with won­der and with things to live with, as it is), it is a com­par­a­tively empty globe. No one seems to be using it very much, or pay­ing very much atten­tion to it, or get­ting very much out of it. There are never more than a very few men on it at a time, who can be said to be really liv­ing on it. They are engaged in get­ting a liv­ing and in hop­ing that they are going to live some­time. They are also going to read sometime.

5 thoughts on “Quotable

  1. my shake­speare pro­fes­sor would say that’s a descrip­tion of a clas­sic patri­ar­chal power sys­tem — the dominant/​empowered men nego­ti­at­ing with each other for more power, the chil­dren wait­ing to enter that hier­ar­chy, and the emer­gent artists/​poets/​tramps bit­ing away at the edges and mostly (mostly) get­ting con­tained by the dominant.

  2. With the fil­lip that Lee (over and over, in many books, and in inter­minable and con­vo­luted sen­tences that reek of tan­gen­tial poetry, or at least some species of hand-​​waving hyp­notic glo­ri­ous ora­tory) sug­gests there is a tiny minor­ity who can step aside, have time to sit and read and think, and man­age to stop try­ing to make a liv­ing in the patri­ar­chal power system—or I sup­pose in the matri­ar­chal social cat­e­go­riza­tion and sub­tle all-​​nurturing dynamic, if we’re talk­ing Long Ago—and live instead.

    In a way it’s just “kids these days” and “can’t we all just get along” and “things are gone all to hell” all over again… but he does it gloriously.

  3. What an amaz­ing quote! Was the bit you posted on twit­ter about civ­i­liza­tion being the dust we scuf­fle also from this fel­low? Remark­able stuff, remark­able stuff. Love the bit about “babies are sup­posed to get over it” :-) .

    If artists and poets really only count after they’re dead, does that actu­ally make them any less important?

  4. Later, @britta, I find

    It seems to have been over­looked while we are all ana­lyt­i­cally falling at Shakespeare’s feet, that Shake­speare did not become Shake­speare by ana­lyt­i­cally falling at any one’s feet–not even at his own–and that the most impor­tant dif­fer­ence between being a Shake­speare and being an analyser of Shake­speare is that with the man Shake­speare no sub­mit­ting of him­self to the analysis-​​gymnast would ever have been pos­si­ble, and with the stu­dents of Shake­speare (as stu­dents go and if they are caught young enough) the habit of analy­sis is not only a pos­si­bil­ity but a sleek, indus­tri­ous, and com­pla­cent certainty.

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