Summary
Feel bad about not reading or not enjoying the so-called great books? Don't sweat it, it's not your fault. Did anyone tell you that Anna Karenina is a beach read, that Dickens is hilarious, that the Iliad 's battle scenes rival Hollywood's for gore, or that Joyce is at his best when he's talking about booze, sex, or organ meats?
Writer and professor Jack Murnighan says it's time to give literature another look, but this time you'll enjoy yourself. With a little help, you'll see just how great the great books are: how they can make you laugh, moisten your eyes, turn you on, and leave you awestruck and deeply moved. Beowulf on the Beach is your field guide-erudite, witty, and fun-loving-for helping you read and relish fifty of the biggest (and most skipped) classics of all time. For each book, Murnighan reveals how to get the most out of your reading and provides a crib sheet that includes the Buzz, the Best Line, What's Sexy, and What to Skip.
Author Notes
Jack Murnighan is editor-in-chief of "Nerve" magazine.
(Bowker Author Biography)
Publisher's Weekly Review
In this guide to 50 classics of literature, author and professor Murnighan (The Naughty Bits) posits that the classics aren't actually difficult to read-we've just not been taught to read them correctly. In chronological order, Murnighan breaks down classics of the Western canon, from Homer's The Iliad to Toni Morrison's Beloved, accounting for the work, the hype and the takeaway. Murnighan's strong opinions won't click with everyone, but his fresh, funny voice will keep readers thumbing through entries on The Canterbury Tales, Crime and Punishment, The Trial, Lolita and Giovanni's Room. Each entry includes a synopsis, a reputation recap, "what people don't know but should," best lines, what's sexy and what to miss. However, Murnighan's intended audience seems like a rare bird; rather than draw in those who might learn from this roundup, it's more likely the book will attract devout readers who have already read and enjoyed a number of these titles. Still, should they find reason to pick it up, the less-well-read will be pleased with Murnighan's accessibility and charm. (May) Copyright 2009 Reed Business Information.
Excerpts
Homer (c. 900 b.c.) The Iliad Because the gods of irony still rule the firmament, Homer happens to be the name of both the pater familias Simpson, cartoon mainstay of the living room box, and the acknowledged father of Western literature, oft called greatest writer of all time. Origins are a funny thing, of course, and while we point all our literature back to Homer, we neither know the exact time when he wrote (most modern scholars think between the 10th and 8th century b.c.) nor even whether the same person necessarily wrote The Iliad and The Odyssey (the latter of which is sometimes argued to have been written by a woman). Then there's the fact that this other guy named Hesiod might be even older than Homer and wrote a book called the Theogony where, among other things, the world is created and the gods come to be--one from hacked-off genitals floating in the ocean. You can see why most people prefer to leave him out of the conversation... . But somehow or other, Western literature got itself going, whether by Homer, Hesiod, or someone else long forgotten or never recorded. As founding stories for a whole civilization go, however, The Iliad and Odyssey are pretty well suited, at least at first blush. Each appears to be a supremely heroic tale with a super-macho protagonist--Achilles in The Iliad, Odysseus in The Odyssey--offing his fair share of flunkies and weenie men. Most founding myths are based on just such triumphs at someone else's expense. The only problem is that anyone who reads The Iliad or The Odyssey closely will see that the heroes themselves are barely responsible for their actions; the gods interfere with nearly everything, handing out victories and failures whimsically and petulantly like demented children throwing bread to geese. It's a bit sad and bracing, actually, to find out that Achilles the great warrior really wins his battles less because of the strength of his arm or the trueness of his spear and more because higher forces come to his aid. In what many people think is the greatest tale of heroism and unmitigated studliness, it turns out that humans are just Cabbage Patch Kids tossed around by bratty, vindictive gods that hardly deserve the name. That said, The Iliad is still as riveting and potent as anything you'll ever read. The story is familiar: scads of Greek troops have sailed to Troy (a possibly fictitious city in what is now Turkey) to take back Helen, the West's first great beauty, whom the fair-haired Trojan prettyboy Paris swiped away from her husband, the trollish Greek prince Menelaus. But the siege isn't going so well; it's already lasted ten years and the Greeks' best fighter, Achilles, is pouting in his ship because he wasn't given the slave girl he wanted. We follow the give-and-take of the battle until Achilles finally gets off his petulant heinie, and then the proverbial hits the proverbial. The Iliad is action at its best, and whoever Homer was, he knew how to tell a story. Its taut dialogue and vivid narration make The Iliad unfold in your mind in Hollywood Technicolor (and it's a lot better than the big-screen Troy, the blockfizzler adaptation from 2004). When you think about The Iliad that way, you won't believe how much it reads like a screenplay: set piece after set piece, great characters, killer action, and the approaching thunderstorm tension as we wait for Achilles to pick up his weapon. But to make sure you feel all the bone-jarring power of Western literature's first masterpiece, I'll give you some selling points. Here are a few surefire ways to love The Iliad: 1. Because you hear the sound of drums, the relentless booming drums of war, pounding pounding pounding. The poem itself has incredible rhythm (even in translation; see "Best Line" on page 8), and once you let yourself slide into its cadence, you can feel the battle building, the battle raging, the concatenated roar of the wounded dying beneath your feet. As you read, Excerpted from Beowulf on the Beach: What to Love and What to Skip in Literature's 50 Greatest Hits by Jack Murnighan All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
