‘6 great novels that were hated in their time’: Hope for overlooked novelists and brave readers
What do The Lord of the Rings Trilogy (one book shown), Moby-Dick, The Catcher in the Rye, Lord of the Flies, The Grapes of Wrath and Brave New World have in common?
Literary critics hated them.
So, at least, says Jacopo della Querci’s Cracked piece—must reading for brave readers and overlooked novelists alike. Here’s the lowdown on the reception befalling The Lord of the Rings Trilogy:
“The reasons for Tolkien’s negative feedback were numerous, not the least of them being that he was a career linguist, not a professional writer. The New York Times described Tolkien’s writing as ‘high-minded’ and ‘death to literature itself.’
“The New Republic described the book and its characters as ‘anemic, and lacking in fiber’ which was apparently a real burn back then in the pre-Cheerios days. Even heavyweights like Isaac Asimov weren’t sold by the book’s whole industry versus the environment message, retorting that modernity ‘or perhaps the modern world… wasn’t all bad.’
“Hell, not even Tolkien’s friends were all that big on it. Tolkien had to stop reading samples of the book to them on account of negative feedback/hurt feelings. One member of Tolkien’s circle, Hugo Dyson (H.V.D. Dyson in geek) once famously moaned from a sofa during one reading: ‘Oh, fuck! Not another elf!’
How about Brave New World? “Even fellow futurists like H.G. Wells were shocked by the book’s dystopian landscape. Despite being the same man who wrote War of the Worlds, Wells describe Brave New World’s bleak future as ‘a betrayal.’ As for the book’s more forgettable critics, i.e. everyone else, responses ranged from dismissal to childish name-calling.”
Now here’s a question. If even critics can’t get these things right, just what are the implications of the above in an era when Amazon and many other book-related Web sites rely so heavily on the opinions of civilians? Perhaps it doesn’t matter, since the readers are rating books for each other, not posterity. Or does it? Meanwhile I think it’s tragic that Kilgore Trout is only imaginary and Kurt Vonnegut is dead. I’d love their opinions on these matters.
Detail: “Jacopo della Querci” is apparently a pseudonym? Note the similar name of an Italian Renaissance sculptor.
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The Jonathan Stone-David Rothman Q. & A.
Jonathan Stone, the reporter in The Solomon Scandals, grilled me for this Q. & A.—uncut. – David Rothman
STONE: Why’s Scandals copyrighted in your name? Those are my newspaper memoirs.
ROTHMAN: Er, faux memoirs. Without me, you wouldn’t even have been born…or have worked for the Washington Telegram…or have struggled to avert an IRS-CIA building collapse…or lived through those quirky sex scandals…or the corruption and blackmail from the Oval Office…or the gossip columnist’s suicide…or the death of the sharklike editor in a car bombing…or your Hollywood directing career or—
STONE: Thanks, but I’ve already read my book. Now what about the talking Afghan Hound at the Cosmos Club? Sure it doesn’t detract from my dignity?
ROTHMAN: But you’ve been dead for decades. Scandals is set mainly in the 1970s, but looks far beyond—via reflections from your great-grand niece at the Institute for Previrtual Studies. Besides, Afghans are dignified. I didn’t put this detail in the book, but Thackeray II speaks in a wonderful baritone with a mid-Atlantic accent. I wish he could do my radio interviews for me.
STONE: For latecomers, who’s this guy Solomon? And what’s he doing on my book cover with a building in his hand?
You might also enjoy:‘Indignation,’ by Philip Roth: A belated review
Although verbose in places, Indignation is witty and engrossing with wonderful caricatures.
I spent time in Northern Ohio eons ago, not that far from some of Sherwood Anderson’s old haunts, and I enjoyed Philip Roth’s depictions of the mythical Winesburg College. Roth lives up to his reputation with hilarious attacks on both Jewish moralists and the Waspy midwestern variety—blended in with the protagonist’s libido-and-ego-driven fondness for defying them.
What’s more, I enjoyed Roth’s clever use of the bleeding motif. Those who’ve read Indignation will know exactly what I mean; Marcus Messner’s story is not for readers who shy from the sight of blood. Fittingly, Marcus’s father is a butcher intent on controlling the boy’s life; quite unintentionally and indirectly, through the events depicted in the novel, he kills his own son.
And one other little detail: Marcus is dead or near-dead at the start of the story. No, my revealing this is not a spoiler; other reviewers have, too. You’ll still want to know the history that lead to Marcus’s current condition, and like me, you may be so caught up in Indignation’s plot and characterizations that you really won’t care that he is already a corpse. I used a somewhat similar technique when I wrote The Solomon Scandals, my Washington newspaper novel—starting Chapter One with the suicide of one of the journalists, at the Watergate. The “Why?” counts as much as, “What’ll happen?”
For reasons that I won’t discuss here, lest I do spoil things, Indignation should especially appeal to those who came of age during the Vietnam era–even though Korea is the war of the moment.
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- Wash. Post killing off domestic news bureaus: D.C. ‘prism’ better than the full story?
Scandals’ origins
Blame The Solomon Scandals on my lack of ESP. Oh, to have read the minds of the people whose lives and deeds helped inspire the novel!
Just why did the late Sen. Abraham Ribicoff end up with a $20,000 investment in a building that the CIA moved into? What were Ribicoff and friends really thinking and doing in private, and how much did he know? Why didn’t the GSA lease list the partners in the building as required by law? And how come his name was hidden from the public? Was it really because of the fear that people would bother a senator about about leaky faucets?
Damn if I knew the full story. A novel seemed the right medium, then—a chance to fill in the gaps even though I normally wrote nonfiction.
Yes, hints abounded in documents and careful public statements. I recalled some tantalizing facts about Ribicoff’s “close friend” Charles Smith—the king of the GSA landlords, whose companies held $150 million in government office leases in 1975. Smith was not just any old real estate tycoon. He had a number of famous friends and investors in government or nongovernment projects. They ranged from Art Buchwald to at least several federal judges and exes, including former Supreme Court Justices Abe Fortas and Arthur Goldberg. But for the most part, the names on the partnership papers were just that, nothing more. They didn’t tell me anything about the parties or family celebrations or other occasions where Smith might have hooked up with his friends. While I could guess what mainly drew Smith and Ribicoff together—both were ambitious self-made men, Ribicoff having even worked in a zipper and buckle factory at one time—that was far from a complete explanation.
Early on I wrote somewhat in a new journalism vein, but the results fell short of what I wanted, because I lacked the requisite information about the Smith-Ribicoff crowd and their actual thoughts, along with other details. The result was that I saw this not just as a conventional investigation but also a novel, with an opportunity to imagine, in fiction identified as such.
The possibilities grew more intriguing after I learned, through Jim Polk, the investigative journalist, that the Ribicoff-linked Key Building had housed some CIA offices. A scenario occurred to me. In part, couldn’t Sy Solomon’s real estate empire be a vehicle for agency-related investments? Perhaps along the way his people could obligingly plant hidden microphones in his buildings to let the CIA spy on other bureaucracies. As a novelist, I could even cook up some murderous rivalries among different factions of spookish business people.
Nothing against new journalism, truly well executed—in fact, it’s more arduous than conventional reporting. But in this case fiction seemed the best way to go in writing up the human side of the story. While I published news articles, I was really looking ahead to fictition.
I wrote the novel, on and off, over a period of more than 30 years. The title, originally The Golden Lease, evolved into The Cover-Up, then The Solomon Scandals. Back in the 1980s I had a near-sale to Warner Books, but luckily Warner turned me down, giving me time to do extensive rewrites and add a framing device. That is, the main plot of the book is presented between the foreword and afterword written in the late 21st century by the director of the Institute for Study of Previrtual Media.
Working on Scandals, I felt thoroughly time-warpy; I bounced back and forth as if I were Billy Pilgrim in Slaughterhouse-Five. My writing tools changed over the years from an old electric typewriter to a Kaypro II, then a whole series of other gizmos, leading up to my present system, a cheapie Hewlett-Packard desktop with many times the computing power of my first machine.
Luckily for me, in terms of the continued newsworthiness of this novel, Washington so far has remained reliably corrupt. How many other towns have even had scandals tours over the years? Ideally The Solomon Scandals can help you understand the scoundrels whose deeds and misdeeds inspired the tours.
Image credit: Creative Commons–licensed photo from Gruntzooki, aka Cory Doctorow. Caption reads, “ESP off button disables precog powers in rental Volkswagen, London, UK.”
Related: Scandals’ origins as discussed in a Writing Show interview with Paula Berinstein in June 2009.
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