On a Recent Edition of Frankenstein

There are so many books coming out that it is sometimes hard to keep up. And yet, there are many very good books that have been deemed classics that I have yet to read. In general, like many people, I probably invest too much time in the latest books, usually non-fiction, to the detriment of my exposure to well-weathered literature.

Karen Swallow Prior has been working with B&H to republish a set of literary classics in lovely bindings with helpful introductions and annotations to help contemporary readers access some good books from our literary past. So far the set includes Sense and Sensibility, Jane Eyre, Heart of Darkness, and Frankenstein. The general approach of the set has fit well with Prior’s earlier volume, On Reading Well, which encourages reading good literature for its ability to make us think morally, not simply to check a box on the Facebook “100 books every person must read” clickbait quiz.

Recently I picked up the new edition of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, which is a book I had never previously read. First, it is worth noting that the physical book is a nice edition. It is a cloth hardback volume with quality paper, an easy-to-read font, with space between the lines and on the margins for notes and for the delight of the eyes. Unlike many reproduced classics, this is no cut-rate production that saps the energy through the process of trying to decipher tiny text on gray paper. Second, the introductory material is actually helpful. Too many reproduced classics have academic essays that diverge from framing the context for contemporary readers into second and third order scholarly debates that do little to help the average reader gain access to the information. Prior demonstrated restraint and focused on the most helpful bits of debate that actually pertain to the text (not its later interpretations), which makes the introduction worth reading before and after tackling Shelley’s work. Third, Prior frames the book for a Christian audience, which can be helpful. Instead of pushing the reader toward feminist interpretations or whatever neologism a particular scholar may be interested in, Prior offers some helpful points for consideration without providing the answers. Along with this, there are some reflection questions at the end of each of the three volumes of the book to encourage dialogue or reading with others.

The themes of Frankenstein are helpful for contemporary readers. Though the technology Victor Frankenstein uses to reanimate his monster is obviously fictional, it points beyond to moral questions of our own day like cloning, artificial wombs, and in vitro fertilization. Frankenstein conquers nature by “creating” life and that creature subsequently conquers him, taking away much of his joy, harming those he loves, and eventually resulting in his own death. In many ways, Shelley shows that by moving beyond the limits of nature, Frankenstein has really conquered himself. One great difference between Victor Frankenstein is that the misery caused by his invention has consequences that he himself feels, while many modern innovations externalize costs to another locality or a later generation. But a thoughtful reader may look around and wonder in what ways he or she is working to create a monster.

Readers should be grateful to Karen Swallow Prior for her work on this project and to B&H for refreshing these works of literature for contemporary readers to enjoy, discuss, and grow through. These volumes promise to be resources that can be appreciated for decades to come.

Breaking Bread with the Dead

The life of the mind is a topic of growing significance as the pace of change, with its assaults on our mental stability, continue to accelerate. Some sources estimate there are more than 2 million books published worldwide each year. And that volume of content is in addition to the newspapers, magazines, blogs, tweets, and emails that also vie for our time.

Along with the flash and glamour of new publications, our attention is also directed to “old books,” which are often celebrated as “classics” that are critical to becoming properly formed as humans or derided as elements of a “racist patriarchy” that must be resisted by any means and at any cost.

In three books, written through the last decade, Alan Jacobs has drafted a series of books that wrestle with the life of the mind, the nature of reading, and value of ancient literary history. This is an odd series. Each book comes from a different publisher, has a distinct thesis, and wrestles with a different topic. There is no thematic unity and little hope of a boxed set, which seems to be the hallmark of such sequences in our day. The progression of topics, too, does not seem as unified as one might expect.

And yet, Jacobs admits that these books are in a series, and that they are related, as disparate as they may seem. The careful reader will, indeed, find that there is a connection between them all. Not a connection that requires reading the books in sequence, but that these are markers, perhaps, staking out the boundaries of a mind alive to the unity of the world and its possibilities. The series is by no means complete, so it will not surprise me to find another short book set out to help readers navigate the modern world, published in a few more years.

Jacobs is, by profession, a teacher of literature. He has also done significant work as a cultural critic. In this he is much like C. S. Lewis, a thinker with whom Jacobs has demonstrated significant interest and expertise. It is not difficult, as a result, to find echoes of Lewis throughout Jacobs’ work, especially in this latest book, Breaking Bread with the Dead, which shares a common theme with Lewis’ essay, “On the Reading of Old Books.”

Breaking Bread with the Dead obviously comes out in favor of reading old books. But read in context with The Pleasures of Reading in an Age of Distraction, it is abundantly clear that Jacobs is not advertising the “checklist” approach of slogging through “Greats,” which is a quest to max out your score on Facebook quizzes and a recipe for gobbling a gourmet feast without savoring the marinated centuries between works—in other words, it represents the sin of gluttony. Rather, he is arguing that reading old books is necessary to understand our times and to live in them.

Jacobs clearly states this goal toward the end of his introduction,

To open yourself to the past is to make yourself less vulnerable to the cruelties of descending in tweeted wrath on a young woman whose clothing you disapprove of, or firing an employee because of a tween you didn’t take time to understand, or responding to climate change either by ignoring it or by indulging in impotent rage. You realize that you need to obey the impulses of this moment—which, it is fair to say, never tend to produce a tranquil mind.

This book is an essay that wanders toward a single goal, rather than an argument with chapters neatly divided into segments of support and refutation. It is a literary essay that seeks to deal with the questions of the day. One of the most pertinent questions for our tiny historical moment is whether one dare to read authors whose social and moral views differ—whether greatly or radically—from our own.

Jacobs begins by examining the problem of presentism, which is the tendency to see our particular cultural moment as the moral apex of humanity and to denigrate all who have ever had a differing opinion. Thus, the reading of Robinson Crusoe must be abandoned because it is racist, sexist, colonial, and a bunch of other bad things that are native and irrevocably attached to old, dead, white men. Jacobs argues that in order to properly understand our own moment, we must interact with minds that came before our moment, even when they do, in fact, have racist, sexist, and colonial ideas.

The concept for engaging with those we disagree with is represented as “table fellowship,” which is obviously conveyed by the title of the book. Jacobs understands this has the center of the book: “sitting at the table with our ancestors and learning to know them in their difference from, as well as their likeness to, us.” He argues that reading even those with whom we disagree—by inviting them to our table—we open ourselves up to a greater understanding of their time and ours. But at the same time, since we invite these sometimes-scraggly guests through the practice of reading, we control the interaction, so that when they get to rowdy we can, with little effort, simply disinvite them from the meal by closing the book and moving to another guest.

Breaking bread with the dead offers us challenges to our own worldview—exactly the reason many activist “academics” want them “cancelled”—and force us to examine our unexamined assumptions. They also force us to wrestle with the reality that our morality du jour has some of the same barbarities of a previous age (albeit with a different shade of lipstick) and that it sometimes is a positive logical outcome of a trajectory we might find in older literature, if we but take the time to consider it. Reading old books helps us to understand ourselves and our time better.

As morality has become increasingly unpinned from any sense of permanence or overt morality, the pace of change from one absolute standard to another has become exhausting. A group of racist trolls on a social media site turn the “OK” symbol into a symbol for “white power” and suddenly everyone who uses the symbol, with its long-standing cultural significance, is now complicit in white supremacy. Unless, of course, someone who is of the right color or political affiliation uses it, in which case it means what it has consistently meant. The tyranny of the present undermines every sense of peace. As Jacobs argues, reading old books is the best way to remind ourselves of our own finitude, the temporary nature of our culture’s moral conclusions, and deepens our souls to better understand those who differ from us. In other words, breaking bread with the dead helps make us more human and reminds us of the humanity of others.

Breaking Bread with the Dead: A Reader's Guide to a More Tranquil Mind

By Jacobs, Alan

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NOTE: I received a gratis copy of this volume with no expectation of a positive review.