Autobiography of Mark Twain Edited by Harriet Elinor Smith (2010. University of California Press. ISBN 978-0-520-26719-0).
Wow. This is a ginormous work. The introduction is 58 pages alone. The main text runs 469 pages of very small font in its present hard cover, textbook size format. The Explanatory Notes begin at page 469 and end at page 650; which are then followed by the Appendices. All in all, the book runs well over 700 pages. But here’s the thing: It is the 469 pages of Samuel L. Clemens’s fits and starts, his attempts to chronicle his life both in and out of letters, that make this work sing. In many ways, I wish the scholars who are charged with preserving Clemens’s life story, a story he forbid publication of until 100 years after his demise (he died in 1910 at the age of 74; hence the publication of the book in 2010) had chosen to honor one of America’s greatest humorists and storytellers by putting his words in a format we commoners would appreciate. This effort, as brilliant as it may be in terms of documentation and scholarship, is anything but reader friendly.
First off, have you ever tried to sit in bed, or in a chair, or on a sofa, or in a hammock (likely the place ol’ Mark himself would prefer on a sunny Missouri afternoon) with a book having the heft of a small pig and the girth of a fat woman? Can’t be done, at least not in comfort. For a life story about a man of the people, a guy whose humor was revered by the unwashed masses, this book leaves those folks in the dust: It’s a friggin dictionary, for Pete’s sake. It is cumbersome and unwieldy. It’s heavy and can cause the reader who deigns to pick the volume up without proper precautions (think stretching exercises) a hernia. No, friends, this is not what Mr. Clemens envisioned when he left his life story behind for posterity.
Then there is the structure of the book itself. Broken up as it is into a faux doctoral thesis, the magic of Twain gets lost in the egg headed highbrowness of someone’s vision of what posterity demands of Clemens’s life story. Why not, good editors, create two versions of the book and release them simultaneously: The thick thighed monolith of prose that I am now staring at and trying to describe (perfect for Twain aficionados and scholars) and a slimmer, more robustly entertaining volume for dullards like me? You know, folks that actually want to read Clemens purely for entertainment and enjoyment? With digital technology, there’s no cost involved in creating two manuscripts from the same wealth of material. And guess what? You’d have a book, in the smaller, less ostentatious version, a guy like Munger could bring with him to the beach. Fancy that.
Enough complaining. So how is Clemens’s autobiography as story? Riveting. It takes a bit to get used to the fact that Clemens was trying to break ground here with the format he chose (dictated recollections which don’t necessarily proceed in chronological order). But once you’re able to forget your initial skepticism as to the book’s non-sequential arrangement, hold on to your hats! The stories are first rate. The humor, vintage Mark Twain. Here’s a sample which purports to recount the author’s first visit with Governor (later President) Grover Cleveland:
So Cable and I went to that majestic Capitol building and stated our errand. We were shown into the Governor’s private office, and I saw Mr. Cleveland for the first time. We three stood chatting together. I was born lazy, and I comforted myself by turning over the corner of a table into a sort of seat. Presently the Governor said:
“Mr. Clemens, I was a fellow citizen of yours in Buffalo a good many months, a good while ago, and during those months you burst suddenly into a mighty fame, out of a previous long continued and no doubt proper obscurity– but I was a nobody and you wouldn’t notice me nor have anything to do with me. But now that I have become somebody, you have changed your style, and you come here to shake hands with me and be sociable. How do you explain this kind of conduct?”
“Oh,”I said, “it is very simple…In Buffalo, you were nothing but a sheriff. I was in society. I couldn’t afford to associate with sheriffs. But you are a Governor, now, and you are on your way to the Presidency. It is a great difference, and it makes you worth while.”
Splendid writing, that.
Feast on this little snippet of a scene from a more serious topic: Twain’s recollection of his first meeting with Helen Keller who was born blind, deaf, and dumb:
I remember the first time I had the privilege of seeing her. She was fourteen years old then. She was to be at Laurence Hutton’s house on a Sunday afternoon, and twelve or fifteen men and women had been invited to come and see her…The company had all assembled and had been waiting a while. The wonderful child arrived now, with her equally wonderful teacher, Miss Sullivan…The guests were brought one after another and introduced to her. As she shook hands with each she took her hand away and laid her fingers lightly against Miss Sullivan’s lips, who spoke against them the person’s name. When a name was difficult, Miss Sullivan not only spoke it against Helen’s fingers, but spelled it in upon Helen’s hand…Then I told her a long story, which she interrupted all along and in the right places, with cackles, chuckles, and care-free bursts of laughter. Then Miss Sullivan put one of Helen’s hands against her lips and spoke against it the question: “What is Mr. Clemens distinguished for?” Helen answered, in her crippled speech, “For his humor”. I spoke up modestly and said, “And for his wisdom.” Helen said the same words instantly–“And for his wisdom.” I suppose it was a case of mental telegraphy, since there was no way for her to know what it was I had said.
For those readers, like myself, who’ve attended one or more of actor Hal Holbrook’s legendary performances, where, through magical metamorphosis, the actor becomes Mark Twain, the gems of observation in this book bring to mind Holbrook’s absolutely dead-on portrayal. This book could have been one of those raggedy epistles every writer carries around in his or her backpack when he or she wanders off to think big thoughts. Sadly, you’d need a truck to cart this book with you in its ill-conceived present configuration. But here’s hoping a more pedestrian, less high-brow version of this excellent work comes out soon.
5 stars out of 5 for Clemens’s original content; 3 and 1/2 stars out of 5 in its present format.
