I don't have anything to say tonight, nor will I likely have much to say the rest of the semester. I've just got too much work to do and not enough interest in blogjammin' (that joke courtesy of Mr. Pillifant). I'll keep postin' pictures here. And I guess I'll do this: For one of my classes I have to write a weekly 350-word paper on whichever book I read the week previous. I'll go ahead and post these; maybe one of the books I talk about will catch your eye, you'll read it, and your life will be significantly enhanced in some mysterious, fatalistic way, leading to your ultimate happiness/success/understanding of the cosmos. My professor said that we should aspire to the Times Literary Supplement's standard, as seen in their Books in Brief section. That's a pretty daunting standard on an already difficult assignment. The first try probably came up a wee bit short of Dr. Louis's aspirations, but, c'est la vie.

Of Timing and Timelessness

Lytton Strachey’s Eminent Victorians possesses all the attributes of timeless literature: drama, humor, writing with style, and an unerring eye for social commentary. But even books with these qualifications usually fade into the dark recesses of dusty libraries. Strachey’s lives on, though, because it came at just the right time. Published less than 20 years after Her Majesty’s death, his biographies can harangue Victorian England with the lucidity of hindsight and the intimacy of a spurned lover.

The lives of Cardinal Manning, Florence Nightingale, Dr. Thomas Arnold, and “Chinese Gordon,” as Strachey tells them, show that these Victorian saints were—not sinners—but mortals. This candor marked a turning point in the genre (another timing trick that gives an author staying power) from adulation to honest assessment. Strachey leaves on his subject’s warts, namely, their blinding passions: Manning’s ambition; Nightingale’s “demon” work ethic; Dr. Arnold’s educational reform without much attention to the actual curriculum; and General Gordon’s submission to God’s will, when, actually, his temperamental, eccentric personality and governmental incompetence combined to seal his doom.

Strachey weakened the illusion of Victorian austerity with these revelations, roughed it up a bit more with his subtle sarcasm, and then conked it firmly over the head by revealing the age’s overwhelming hypocrisy. The background stories to each narrative show that while the pious privileged argue over “the momentous niceties of the Anglican faith,” while bureaucracy delays the supply line, while “slow” politicians take months to act, the masses suffer, the soldiers die, and the darkies wait to be slaughtered. So much for nobility.

Strachey’s book remains ageless because, through microcosm, it unmasks Victorian England better than any survey could hope to. In the process, it gives modern readers insight into human nature—which will always read well. Only someone who lived at the end of the age could know it intimately enough to capture it and put it to rest. For as Monsignor Talbot told Cardinal Manning, “A word dropped at the proper occasion does wonders.”