Archaic Junior Highers

Junior high love—who isn’t both touched (and a little creeped out) by those innocent, intimate crushes? But we all know that junior high crushes do not just take place in adolescence—anyone can experience this awkward love at anytime of life. Norris makes this clear when he introduces the sweet, awkward relationship of Old Grannis and Miss Baker.

Old Grannis is, well, and old gentleman who runs a veterinary hospital. He is quiet and keeps to himself, binding old books and pamphlets in the evenings to keep himself busy.

Miss Baker is the petite retired seamstress who lives next door to Old Grannis on the flat. She spends her days caring for and talking with her friends. In the evenings, she rests in her rocking chair with a cup of tea.

Maria is convinced the two are in love. And yet, the two have never met! They have never spoken a word to each other. But both leave their doors open just a crack as he binds pamphlets and she sips on tea. They are “keeping company”—they are archaic junior higher in the midst of an overwhelming crush.

In the midst of a dark, cynical, evolutionistic tale, Norris includes a ray of sunshine—a breath of fresh air. The reader cannot help but giggle (or at least smirk) when Old Grannis and Miss Baker meet for the first time. Can’t you feel their uneasiness as Marcus flamboyantly introduces them? Your breath catches when Miss Baker unwittingly turns to Old Grannis at the McTeagues’ wedding and says, “Don’t you just love children?” You blush with the dear lady as she becomes overwhelmed with the “impropriety of the situation.

But then, they meet. On the stairs. All alone. Will this be it? Will they finally speak to each other? NOPE. In fact, both become so nervous that Old Grannis knocks the little seamstress’s grocery basket right out of her hands. Lettuce and produce fly through the air and tumble to the bottom of the stairs. Who will save the situation? (dun-duh-dah!) MARCUS TO THE RESCUE!

As the situation with the McTeagues worsens, hope seems to flee the story. More than once I wanted to put the book down and let it gather dust. Then Norris let the junior high crush blossom to its full potential.

One evening, after selling his binding machine for a great deal of money, we discover Old Grannis sitting alone in his room with nothing to do. Poor dear man! He feels he has sold his happiness for money and he was disgusted with himself. He listened as Miss Baker made herself tea and rocked in her chair.

But then, something changes. Rather than making just one cup of tea and sitting in her chair so close to him for the rest of the evening, Miss Baker acts outside of character. With boldness she can’t explain, she makes two cups of tea and . . . and brings the tray over to Old Grannis. Once she has offered the tea (and he responds with silence) her courage expires and she begins to retreat to the safety of her room.

Then Old Grannis speaks.

For the rest of the evening those two archaic junior highers “keep company” with each other. In the same room. Holding hands.

(549)

Gold Fever

Maria is crazy. No one really needs to be convinced of that—they woman introduces herself with the phrase, “I had a flying squirrel, but it ran away.” Really? How nuts (pardon the pun) can you be?

But that’s not the only thing that makes the maid-of-all-work crazy. No, there is something worse. She claims that when she was growing up in South America her family owned a set of golden dishes. Not golden plated dishes, but solid golden dishes. See? The woman is completely off her rocker.

Once a month, Maria collects junk to sell to the junk man Zerkow. And at each meeting Zerkow offers Maria alcohol and has her tell the story of the golden dishes---over, and over, and over again. Soon, the pathetic, grimy weasel is consumed with Maria’s story. He is crazier than she is—he believes her story is true! For a man of his passions, this can only have a horrible ending.

Maria and Zerkow are married and the situation goes from bad to worse (told ‘ya so). After delivering a still-born child, Maria really loses it. Actually, she just loses it—the story of the golden plates. She denies ever telling anyone about the golden plates and tells everyone they’re crazy themselves. Zerkow, who only married the woman in hopes that she would lead him to the vast fortune, becomes enraged. Greed consumes him. He watches his wife’s every move and accuses her of hiding the immense treasure from him.

The obsession drives him to the edge.

In cold-blooded desperation, Zerkow cuts his wife’s throat, ending any hope he had in finding the elusive golden dishes. With the treasure gone, Zerkow vainly tries to collect whatever he can—tin and brass pots and dishes. Search is made for the heinous murderer. And they find him—floating in the river with a bag of useless dishes in his hands.

Gold fever—it’ll kill you.

(322)

Trina's Hoard

A hoard is a horrible thing. The accumulation of wealth simply for the false joy of piling all the glittering things. Dragons in romantic novels hoard treasures, killing adventuresome men who come seeking quick wealth. Both the dragon and the thief harbor the same problem: greed.

The sweet, beautiful Trina, with her tiara of raven hair, characterizes herself as “economical.” Now, when someone has nothing and saves well, they are economical—living practically with income and expenses in mind. In short, an economical person lives within their means.

The question is, “Is Trina economical?”

Well, yes and no.

Innately, Trina is economical. She is used to stretching nothing as far as it goes. She has lived well on a meager income, taking care of herself and wanting virtually nothing. But then, the dragon within her is awakened.

 $5000—wonderful sum of money. Winning that lottery changes Trina’s life forever. She was set—with her economical mind, she would be able to live comfortably for some time. $5000—she had money enough to get married and begin a wonderful life with McTeague.

$5000—a glittering pile of money. Once the news set in, Trina became consumed with saving—being “economical” as she put it. While Marcus became angry with McTeague for stealing his girl and all that money, while McTeague struggles to understand the whole of the situation, while her family and friends congratulate her on her winnings, Trina begins to hoard her new, glittering possession.

Dependent on her “economy,” Trina invests the $5000 into Uncle Obermann’s business and resolves that she and McTeague will live off the $25 interest and income of their jobs. But is she really being economical?

I believe a monster has awakened within. Trina’s grip on her hoard will only become tighter as more time passes. Her hoard will grow and her life will become consumed with gaining one more dollar.

(315)

The Lottery

The lottery. That fantastic game of chance that could make princes of paupers. American society is filled with poor, destitute persons who use their last dollar to gamble on the lottery. A wasted last dollar for the majority—each grappling for a mirage of wealth and fame. Few win and “fate” ironically rewards the rich or middle-class over those who have given all to the gamble. But every once in a while, “fate” aids the struggling. Every once in a while, the prize is given to the unexpectant—like Trina.

Trina bought her winning ticket on accident—an accident that would change her life forever. She spent a measly dollar—one dollar—to rid herself of Maria. Not for the chance to will thousands, but for the momentary reward of peace and quiet.

When she and McTeague return from the show, the little flat on Polk Street is anything but quiet. As soon as she enters the apartment, Trina is swarmed by nearly every resident. Has she heard the news? What will she do with the reward—the $5000?

It’s almost too much to take in. But Norris doesn’t just reveal Trina’s thoughts and emotions, he dives into each character. This prick of interest—this $5000 lottery, begins the downward spiral of greed for most of residents of Polk Street.

Trina becomes consumed with saving. Like Rockefeller, she will be satisfied with one more dollar. She becomes stingy and hostile—regretting spending $200 dollars on her wedding and refusing to assist her husband in any way. The $5000 must not be touched. It must be saved for a rainy day . . .

Mac sees the money as opportunity to live a warm, comfortable life. Truly, if he had his own way the money would be gone in a week due his immense simplicity. After all, what else is money for, but to make a man comfortable and happy?

Marcus turns jealous and vengeful. That $5000 is rightfully his! Didn’t he give Trina to McTeague? Wasn’t he there when Trina bought the ticket? McTeague has stolen everything from him—his girl and his immense fortune. Marcus won’t be slighted—you just wait . . .

(365)

McTeague's Simplicity

How many times can a man be called a simpleton and idiot before taking offense? Apparently, Frank Norris was not concerned that the massive, blonde brute of a dentist he created would be coming by to haunt him. McTeague is referenced as simple and stupid in every chapter and on nearly every page.

McTeague is a huge, brutish man with only his strength to recommend him. Every character in the novel, from the friend-turned-enemy Marcus to the petite little wife Trina, remarks and jests at McTeague’s incredible simplicity.

Though the man may be simple-minded, I don’t really believe there is anything simplistic about Norris’ ignorant character.

Truly, at the beginning of the novel, the reader wonders how Norris is going to make this big, burly, bone-head an interesting character to follow. I mean, the guy is a dentist. How many of us really care to follow the boring life of a dentist? Especially one from the turn of the last century. I have to admit, I was not at all excited about reading McTeague after the first couple pages. I just don’t see how Norris can take this story anywhere with a dentist as the central character!

But, as I continue to read, McTeague reveals the layers we all hide. Poor guy, he reminds me of nearly every awkward person I’ve ever met. The man has no idea how to relate to people—especially women. He never dreams that he is in love with Trina until the “animalistic desire” comes over him suddenly after putting her to sleep for a dental operation. I nearly laughed out loud as I imagines this idiotic brute fumble and contemplate the emotions reeling inside his head.

Maybe he is a fool—he doesn’t seem to follow anything. The brute met with Trina for weeks before he realized he was falling in love—and I’m not even sure I can use that terminology. He simply felt that he must have her at any cost. Now that, is simplistic thinking.

(334)

"McTeague" and "The Great Gatsby"

As I began reading McTeague, I was struck with a strange feeling of déjà vu. Haven’t I read a story like this before? When? What is this vague familiarity I feel with a book I know I have never read before.

Then it hit me. McTeague reminds me of The Great Gatsby.

The Great Gatsby (F. Scott Fitzgerald) depicts the realistic, riotous nightlife of the 1920s. The nightlife of New York City revolves around the young, mysterious Jay Gatsby whose sole goal in life is to win back the love of his life. The problem? She’s married. To add to the tangled mess, her husband is having an affair with a married woman. The reader is experiences the confusion of passion through the eyes of a rather confused young man.

At the conclusion of the story I felt depressed and wondered why I picked up the novel in the first place. . . . Oh, I had to do reading for US History and I was told it was an American classic. Right.

As I began reading McTeague the same sense of hopelessness overwhelmed me. Both stories seem to drag along (though I have to admit, I have gotten through them both. Emma on the other hand . . .) But my lack of interest isn’t what connects McTeague and The Great Gatsby in my mind.

It’s the authors’ naturalistic views of humanity. In both works, the characters are motivated by their natural instincts. While F. Scott Fitzgerald simply retells the depressing party-life of the 1920s, Frank Norris actually discusses the animal passions of human nature. McTeague’s “love” for Trina is not driven by a Biblical care and love, but by animalistic desires to control and claim Trina as his own. McTeague, and the other characters of the book, seemingly have no control over their animalistic instincts.

In both novels, characters are bound to their natural instincts—they cannot escape their desires toward lust and greed. What a sad life.

And a sadder thought is that our world is consumed with the same lifestyles. We are constantly tol that whether life is a riotous party or commonplace life, all life is captive to animalistic instincts. Don’t fight against it—your struggling is futile.

That view, my friends, a lie.

(379)

The Well

When you were a kid did you ever sing “There was an old woman who lived in a shoe, she had so many children she didn’t know what to do so . . . she threw them out the window, the window the second story window!”?

No? Well, then you’ll have to excuse my analogy, but I believe that Twain has his own method of getting rid of unwanted children . . . or in his case, characters.

In the break between Puddin’head Wilson and Those Extraordinary Twins, Twain relates his frustration in writing the story that he had in his head. No matter how he tried, the characters took control of the story, leaving his intended central characters in the shadows.

What does an author do with disobedient or disappearing characters?

Twain found his answer, not by throwing them out of the second story window, but by drowning them in a well. First one, then two more . . . but soon the well filled up. After all, wouldn’t the readers get a little suspicious of all these “coincidental” drownings in a family well? What’s an author to do?

For Twain, the answer was obvious—write two stories. The first, Puddin’head Wilson, would be the story commandeered by the characters; the second, Those Extraordinary Twins, would be the story he intended to write from the beginning.

So, next time I’m faced with opposition from my fictional characters (which I honestly can’t think of when this could happen, as I do not write fiction), I’ll take a lesson from Twain and drown them in the well. Once that fills up, I’ll write a supplementary novel.

Of course I could always “throw them out the window, the window the second story window . . .”

(294)

Tragedy or Farce?

Which has more literary value, the tragedy Puddin’head Wilson or comedic farce Those Extraordinary Twins?

I’m not trying to trick you. That’s a loaded question that can be answered by you alone. Personally, I like the tragic Puddin’head Wilson far better than Those Extraordinary Twins. Why? I’m glad you asked.

First, Puddin’head Wilson is a well-rounded, intriguing, complete story. I was drawn in at the beginning (partially because of the Missouri connection) when Roxanne switched the two infants. Right from the beginning, I knew this story was going somewhere—who wouldn’t want to find out what happens when the mix-up is discovered? (If you are one of those uninterested persons, then I question your sense of curiosity.) Though Twain claims that these characters took over the original story, the characters in Puddin’head Wilson are deeper and more developed than those in Those Extraordinary Twins.

Second, enjoy reading more realistic tragedies. As I have already admitted, I enjoy pieces by Hawthorne (The Birthmark and The House of Seven Gables) and Poe. Even contemporary novels and short stories, like A Separate Peace and The Lottery, captivate my attention.

Third, I felt that Those Extraordinary Twins was a stretch. Whether comedy or tragedy, I like to sense a degree of realism in what I read. I want to believe that what is taking place could really happen. Conjoined twins whose legs change ownership on the stroke of midnight of a new week? A town who hangs one twin believing the other will live? Nonsense. There is absolutely nothing plausible, realistic or appealing about a story like that.

Whatever your  choice, I can firmly say that, in this instance, I would choose the tragedy hands-down. Maybe I like Puddin’head too much. Maybe I just got annoyed with the conjoined version of Luigi and the ridiculousness of the leg-ownership. Whatever the case, I’ve made my choice—what’s yours?

(313)

Twins Called Parallels

Puddin’head Wilson and Those Extraordinary Twins are filled with twins—and I’m not talking about Tom and Chambers or Luigi and Angelo. I’m talking about parallels. Twain uses several parallels in his conjoined novel that challenge the reader to think about and evaluate a variety of deep topics.

·         Black & White: Twain grew up in a restrictive era in one of the most controversial regions of the country. Was slavery right or wrong? Growing up, Twain accepted the institution of slavery as fact, but as he began writing he used his pen to speak out against the world of his childhood. He addresses this controversy in Puddin’head Wilson through Roxy’s deception. From the age of eight weeks, Tom and Chambers lead each other’s lives. No one, not one person in the community outside of Roxy, knows the switch has been made. Twain blurs the distinction between Blacks and Whites in his portrayal of “Tom.”

·         Male & Female: Now, I know what you’re thinking, “how could Twain challenge the reader’s perception of male and female? Do you think I’m stupid?” No, I don’t—and neither does Twain. Like his meld of Black and White, Twain shows readers that things aren’t always what they seem. Puddin’head Wilson is sure he saw a woman leave the Judge’s house after his murder—but it wasn’t a man that was fleeing. In St. Louis, Roxy avoids  recapture and being sold “down river” by dressing as a man.

·         Slave & Master: Who is really in control—the slave or the master? In Puddin’head Wilson, it is hard to say for sure. Once again, Twain blurs conventional lines to challenge the distorted moral views of his era. The slave’s son enjoys the life and privilege of his master’s son while the privileged young man works for his meager living. Even when the novel ends and “wrong is made right” nothing really changes. How can a man, who has lived his entire life as a slave, suddenly be accepted and accept himself as his own master? The task is truly daunting.

(346)

2-for-1

Twain’s books Puddin’head Wilson and Those Extraordinary Twins are a two-for-one deal. Literally.

First, if you read one, you must read the other. Why? Because you cannot fully understand Twain’s purpose for the books without doing so. And this reading includes the introductory material that so many readers mistakenly skim or skip over.

In Puddin’head Wilson the two Italian twins we meet are “attached at the hip” in a symbolic, not realistic, sense. The attachment between the twins is that of close friendship, which is why they choose to do every activity together—even sleep in the same room and go to political rallies opposite of personal views. They are the best of friends, they have gone through great trials together, and they could not imagine life as anything but twins. While Luigi and Angelo make interesting characters in Puddin’head Wilson, they are not main characters. Their intriguing story is set aside for that of the slave Roxy, her misplaced son “Tom,” and the town fool-turned-success Puddin’head Wilson.

The first story the reader meets is intriguing, but does not follow Twain’s original storyline. Not by a long shot. Twain remarks that the characters hijacked his story—which is why the American and national readership can know enjoy the tragedy of Puddin’head Wilson.

No, the original plot focused on a silly country girl and conjoined twins from Italy. Sure, those three characters made it into Puddin’head Wilson, but their real story is found in Those Extraordinary Twins. That, friends, is why you must read both novels.

In Those Extraordinary Twins, the small Missouri town of Dawson’s Landing is shocked (and somewhat horrified) to discover that their two newest visitors are really one . . .or at least they are one from the waist down. The whole town (excepting that silly girl) is befuddled. Is it “them” or “him”?  More mesmerizing (and perhaps disturbing) are the hands that feed the wrong face and the legs that switch ownership at the precise ending of a week. In the comedic half of the novel, Twain focuses on introducing the reader to the “horrific events” in the life of conjoined twins.

Whether you like Puddin’head Wilson or Those Extraordinary Twins better is completely your choice, but remember, when you read one, you must read the other. Like Luigi and Angelo, they are a two-for-one deal.

(390)

Twain's "Poor Richard's"

Ignorant readers are easily preyed upon. In 1732, Benjamin Franklin introduced Poor Richard’s Almanack to the unsuspecting American public. The almanac addressed the typical prophecies concerning the weather and astrological signs, but Franklin slipped short bits of wit and wisdom between the calendar entries. The American public took to Franklin’s proverbs like a pig takes to mud. Even now, nearly 400 years later, American quote the timeless truths: “Early to bed, early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise,” “A penny saved is a penny earned,” and “God helps them that help themselves.”

With sayings just as witty, but possibly not as timeless, Twain uses Puddin’head Wilson’s Calendar to insert his own philosophical proverbs into the American culture.

Tacked onto the beginning of each chapter are quotes from the Calendar that immortalize Twain’s sarcastic wit and open cynicism toward the human race. So, sit back and enjoy a laugh as I share with you some of my favorites from Puddin’head Wilson’s Calendar for 1894.

January: “Nothing so needs reform as other people’s habits.”
{I cannot count how many times I have thought the same thing—don’t people know that my way is best?}

April 1^st: “This is the day upon which we are reminded of what we are the other three hundred and sixty-four.”
{Can’t you picture him with one eyebrow cocked and a smirking twitch at his moustache uttering these words of wisdom in his tenored Southern drawl?}

July 4^th:  “Statistics show we lose more fools on this day than in all the other days of the year put together. This proves, by the number left in stock, that one Fourth of July per year is now inadequate, the country has grown so.”
{This quote brings back hilarious family memories—including the year I finally scrapped up the courage to hold the Roman Candles. I think I jumped four feet in the air when the first projectile left the cardboard tube in my hand. I dropped the still-active firecracker on the ground as it sent off the remaining six or seven cartridges. I don’t think I’d ever seen my dad and brothers move so quickly . . .}

August: “Why is it that we rejoice at a birth and grieve at a funeral? Is it because we are not the person involved?”
{What a way to think about life! As a Christian, I should be looking forward to “going home.” But as a human, I am all too attached to those God brings into my life . . . }

October: “This is one of the particularly dangerous months to speculate stocks in. The others are July, January, September, April, November, May, March, June, December, August, and February.”

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