![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
deckardcanineI rather liked "The Open Boat" in high school, along with a few paragraphs of TRBoC that I read in junior high. When I browsed the used-book shelves and saw this inexpensive copy from 1960, I figured it was my best bet for learning more about Crane. The titular other writings include 10 shorter stories and 22 poems, plus an introduction by editor Richard Chase.
To be frank, I might have done better to stop at the intro. Chase may be a Crane fan, but he doesn't downplay Crane's weaknesses, making it sound like some of the writings are included more for history lessons than for literary quality in themselves. And while I admire how prolific Crane was for the few years between his first publication and his death of TB at 28, the most defining attributes of his style (helpfully underlined in the intro by a previous reader) are not my type. He's a naturalist with a narrow scope and little use for many types of details we take for granted, including character development most of the time. He's also the dreary kind of atheist/misotheist with little faith in human free will. These aspects didn't bother me in "TOB," but did I want to read nearly 400 pages of this?
As verified by the date of my last book review, I averaged fewer than 10 pages a day from start to finish on this book. Even five in one sitting felt like a slog. I might chalk this up in part to a high word count per page, but the fact remains that despite what I said about details, it takes a while for things to really happen in these stories. Anyway, I might as well say a few word for each section except "TOB," which I didn't reread:
Maggie: A Girl of the Streets. I shouldn't be too hard on this one, because Crane was only 22 when it was published. It also has a relatively large cast and the strongest female focus to be found in his works. What I don't like about it are the overall misery in depicting slums and the difficulty in reading the heavily accented dialect, which is hard for me to place. I can believe it's realistic, but I'd prefer something more hopeful in my fiction.
George's Mother. Here's the first time Crane gets weird about names. Apart from the titular mother, no one, not even the narrator, calls George anything but "Kelcey." There's the second most female focus, but once again, the main woman simply can't have her way thanks to a contrary man. The dialect is toned down a little, and events feel a bit more modern to me. It's slightly shorter and slightly better than its predecessor.
The Red Badge of Courage. More name weirdness: The narrator always calls protagonist Henry Johnson "the youth." As he serves on the Union side of the War Between the States, of course there's plenty of gritty drama and several moments of action, but what really makes this war tale stand out from others is what goes on in Henry's head. He keeps changing his mind on how to feel about acts of bravery by himself and others, sometimes secretly proud to make a cowardly decision and sometimes wishing he could be wounded or dead on the battlefield. I can imagine no good way to adapt this thought-centric novel to a screen or stage, which doesn't make it any worse for reading. Also, from here on, all the dialog reads pretty easily.
The Veteran. A brief sequel to the previous, set decades later. Even in geriatric retirement, Henry has the opportunity to demonstrate courage and, indeed, die with his boots on. Some readers are surprised if not appalled at the fate Crane had in store for his best-known character, but I figure if he had to continue the story at all, it would have to end something like that.
A Mystery of Heroism. This is a great example of a short story with a simple premise, namely a soldier fetching water at a bad time. I suppose I wouldn't have minded this in school, because it doesn't tax the brain much; but as leisure reading in adulthood, the less-than-five-pager kinda misses something.
An Episode of War. Evidently Chase's favorite, it doesn't involve much besides the curiosity of emotions as a soldier deals with a newly lost limb. The ending doesn't look much like an ending to me, not for the first or last time. Also, by now I noticed a pattern of characters repeating themselves a lot, no doubt for authenticity at the cost of reader comfort.
The Blue Hotel. Like so many U.S. men of the 1890s, Crane visited the West and felt compelled to start writing westerns. This one almost comes across as a parody: A paranoid alleged Swede tells these strangers at the hotel that they must be planning to kill him for no obvious reason, inadvertently annoying them to the point where it doesn't sound like a bad idea. Tense? Somewhat, but the tenseness feels manufactured.
The Bride Comes to Yellow Sky. Ah, finally another woman of consequence! But how long will she remain married, given that her husband, a marshal, is already asked to deal with a notorious man as wild and dangerous as that Swede would imagine? The ending is more upbeat than I expected -- and, perhaps not coincidentally, less convincing. I guess it's a win overall.
Stephen Crane's Own Story. Yes, he called it that, tho it's not autobiographical; it sets the stage for "TOB." Nobody talks about it separately from "TOB," but it's definitely its own animal, not just in the use of the first person perspective but in partly resembling a series of contemporary news clippings. I'm not sure why I didn't find it more interesting. Too long in sinking the ship for a non-movie?
The Monster. A Black man rescues a White boy from a fire, basically losing his face in the process. People can hardly stand to look at him, let alone live with him, but the boy's father wants the best for the rescuer. It's a touching if unresolved story. Oddly enough, the characters' races don't make as much difference as I thought. Maybe Crane just wanted to make readers feel sorry for a Black guy for a change.
Poems. None are titled, so Chase refers to them by their first lines. I can see why Crane held his poems in higher esteem than his stories: They can dispense with clutter in ways that stories can't. We're left largely with raw emotion. It gets pretty engaging, occasionally funny or romantic, but most often horribly cynical, which may explain why readers usually prefer his stories.
For something I can finish much faster, I have purchased the first collection of The Sandman. I'm counting on you, Neil Gaiman.
To be frank, I might have done better to stop at the intro. Chase may be a Crane fan, but he doesn't downplay Crane's weaknesses, making it sound like some of the writings are included more for history lessons than for literary quality in themselves. And while I admire how prolific Crane was for the few years between his first publication and his death of TB at 28, the most defining attributes of his style (helpfully underlined in the intro by a previous reader) are not my type. He's a naturalist with a narrow scope and little use for many types of details we take for granted, including character development most of the time. He's also the dreary kind of atheist/misotheist with little faith in human free will. These aspects didn't bother me in "TOB," but did I want to read nearly 400 pages of this?
As verified by the date of my last book review, I averaged fewer than 10 pages a day from start to finish on this book. Even five in one sitting felt like a slog. I might chalk this up in part to a high word count per page, but the fact remains that despite what I said about details, it takes a while for things to really happen in these stories. Anyway, I might as well say a few word for each section except "TOB," which I didn't reread:
Maggie: A Girl of the Streets. I shouldn't be too hard on this one, because Crane was only 22 when it was published. It also has a relatively large cast and the strongest female focus to be found in his works. What I don't like about it are the overall misery in depicting slums and the difficulty in reading the heavily accented dialect, which is hard for me to place. I can believe it's realistic, but I'd prefer something more hopeful in my fiction.
George's Mother. Here's the first time Crane gets weird about names. Apart from the titular mother, no one, not even the narrator, calls George anything but "Kelcey." There's the second most female focus, but once again, the main woman simply can't have her way thanks to a contrary man. The dialect is toned down a little, and events feel a bit more modern to me. It's slightly shorter and slightly better than its predecessor.
The Red Badge of Courage. More name weirdness: The narrator always calls protagonist Henry Johnson "the youth." As he serves on the Union side of the War Between the States, of course there's plenty of gritty drama and several moments of action, but what really makes this war tale stand out from others is what goes on in Henry's head. He keeps changing his mind on how to feel about acts of bravery by himself and others, sometimes secretly proud to make a cowardly decision and sometimes wishing he could be wounded or dead on the battlefield. I can imagine no good way to adapt this thought-centric novel to a screen or stage, which doesn't make it any worse for reading. Also, from here on, all the dialog reads pretty easily.
The Veteran. A brief sequel to the previous, set decades later. Even in geriatric retirement, Henry has the opportunity to demonstrate courage and, indeed, die with his boots on. Some readers are surprised if not appalled at the fate Crane had in store for his best-known character, but I figure if he had to continue the story at all, it would have to end something like that.
A Mystery of Heroism. This is a great example of a short story with a simple premise, namely a soldier fetching water at a bad time. I suppose I wouldn't have minded this in school, because it doesn't tax the brain much; but as leisure reading in adulthood, the less-than-five-pager kinda misses something.
An Episode of War. Evidently Chase's favorite, it doesn't involve much besides the curiosity of emotions as a soldier deals with a newly lost limb. The ending doesn't look much like an ending to me, not for the first or last time. Also, by now I noticed a pattern of characters repeating themselves a lot, no doubt for authenticity at the cost of reader comfort.
The Blue Hotel. Like so many U.S. men of the 1890s, Crane visited the West and felt compelled to start writing westerns. This one almost comes across as a parody: A paranoid alleged Swede tells these strangers at the hotel that they must be planning to kill him for no obvious reason, inadvertently annoying them to the point where it doesn't sound like a bad idea. Tense? Somewhat, but the tenseness feels manufactured.
The Bride Comes to Yellow Sky. Ah, finally another woman of consequence! But how long will she remain married, given that her husband, a marshal, is already asked to deal with a notorious man as wild and dangerous as that Swede would imagine? The ending is more upbeat than I expected -- and, perhaps not coincidentally, less convincing. I guess it's a win overall.
Stephen Crane's Own Story. Yes, he called it that, tho it's not autobiographical; it sets the stage for "TOB." Nobody talks about it separately from "TOB," but it's definitely its own animal, not just in the use of the first person perspective but in partly resembling a series of contemporary news clippings. I'm not sure why I didn't find it more interesting. Too long in sinking the ship for a non-movie?
The Monster. A Black man rescues a White boy from a fire, basically losing his face in the process. People can hardly stand to look at him, let alone live with him, but the boy's father wants the best for the rescuer. It's a touching if unresolved story. Oddly enough, the characters' races don't make as much difference as I thought. Maybe Crane just wanted to make readers feel sorry for a Black guy for a change.
Poems. None are titled, so Chase refers to them by their first lines. I can see why Crane held his poems in higher esteem than his stories: They can dispense with clutter in ways that stories can't. We're left largely with raw emotion. It gets pretty engaging, occasionally funny or romantic, but most often horribly cynical, which may explain why readers usually prefer his stories.
For something I can finish much faster, I have purchased the first collection of The Sandman. I'm counting on you, Neil Gaiman.