I think the author of "The Most Dangerous Book: The Battle over James Joyce's Ulysses" would agree.
Here's what Kevin Birmingham writers in the epilogue (I just finished the book tonight):
"One of the paradoxes of the printed word is that whatever strength and durability it has is inseparable from its inherent weakness. Even a book like Ulysses, we consider essential to our cultural heritage book, might never have happened - might have ended in a New York police court or with the outbreak of a world war - if it were not for a handful of awestruck people. Joyce's novel, with its intricacies and schoolboy adventures, with each measured and careful page, gave them what it gives us: a way to sally forth into the greater world, to walk out into the garden, to see the heaventree of stars as if for the first time and affirm against the incalculable odds, our own diminutive existence. It is the fragility of our affirmations - no matter how indecorous they may be - that makes them so powerful.
Margaret Anderson was an interesting character. She was an a social activist - and ardent feminist, who fought for women's rights at a time in which men were basically censoring works like Ulysses to protect the morals of "the little lady" or "the women" (seriously the judges actually had that phrase in their opinions as did the prosecutors in their arguments - enough to make me want to hit them really hard in the you know what). Women were considered beneath men socially back in the 1920s and 30s, they'd only just gotten the right to vote. Add to this? Margaret Anderson was a lesbian who was fighting for gay rights - in the 1920s! And she was a radical anarchist - although not quite as radical as Emma Goldman.
She adored Joyce. Joyce, himself, had no idea what to make of her, and Ezra Pound struggled to keep her in check. But her idea of the artist not being interfered with is hardly new and I can't say that I agree with it - it is like you say, rather idealistic and not all that realistic. Like I said, she was a character.
Unfortunately, like it or not, art is not created in a vacume and its worth is ultimately in the hands of those who fall in love with it, shrug it off ambivalently, who hate it with a passion and wish to eradicate it from the Earth.
A modern example - would be "The Interview" - not such a great movie, a bit crude and various movie-goers freely admitted they wouldn't otherwise see it if North Korean terrorists hadn't tried to censor it. Ulysses was somewhat similar - many people would never have attempted to read it or gotten interested if it had not been banned or censored by the government. I certainly wouldn't have become interested - if it weren't for my mother's thesis about its censorship. So ironically - hatred of a book or a work of art - can bring more attention to it. I can't help but wonder what would have happened if it had not been censored.
No, as an artist, I think it is ambivalence I fear the most. The shrug of the shoulders. Or the casual disinterest. Just jump on Good Reads or Amazon, the controversial books such as Twilight, 50 Shades of Gray, Harry Potter, or The Goldfinch become best sellers, while the books that aren't controversial disappear from print in a scant few months regardless of their literary value. Writers and artists are like it or not at the mercy of the public, who will hold them accountable - regardless of whether they should.
no subject
Here's what Kevin Birmingham writers in the epilogue (I just finished the book tonight):
"One of the paradoxes of the printed word is that whatever strength and durability it has is inseparable from its inherent weakness. Even a book like Ulysses, we consider essential to our cultural heritage book, might never have happened - might have ended in a New York police court or with the outbreak of a world war - if it were not for a handful of awestruck people. Joyce's novel, with its intricacies and schoolboy adventures, with each measured and careful page, gave them what it gives us: a way to sally forth into the greater world, to walk out into the garden, to see the heaventree of stars as if for the first time and affirm against the incalculable odds, our own diminutive existence. It is the fragility of our affirmations - no matter how indecorous they may be - that makes them so powerful.
Margaret Anderson was an interesting character. She was an a social activist - and ardent feminist, who fought for women's rights at a time in which men were basically censoring works like Ulysses to protect the morals of "the little lady" or "the women" (seriously the judges actually had that phrase in their opinions as did the prosecutors in their arguments - enough to make me want to hit them really hard in the you know what). Women were considered beneath men socially back in the 1920s and 30s, they'd only just gotten the right to vote. Add to this? Margaret Anderson was a lesbian who was fighting for gay rights - in the 1920s! And she was a radical anarchist - although not quite as radical as Emma Goldman.
She adored Joyce. Joyce, himself, had no idea what to make of her, and Ezra Pound struggled to keep her in check. But her idea of the artist not being interfered with is hardly new and I can't say that I agree with it - it is like you say, rather idealistic and not all that realistic. Like I said, she was a character.
Unfortunately, like it or not, art is not created in a vacume and its worth is ultimately in the hands of those who fall in love with it, shrug it off ambivalently, who hate it with a passion and wish to eradicate it from the Earth.
A modern example - would be "The Interview" - not such a great movie, a bit crude and various movie-goers freely admitted they wouldn't otherwise see it if North Korean terrorists hadn't tried to censor it. Ulysses was somewhat similar - many people would never have attempted to read it or gotten interested if it had not been banned or censored by the government. I certainly wouldn't have become interested - if it weren't for my mother's thesis about its censorship. So ironically - hatred of a book or a work of art - can bring more attention to it. I can't help but wonder what would have happened if it had not been censored.
No, as an artist, I think it is ambivalence I fear the most. The shrug of the shoulders. Or the casual disinterest. Just jump on Good Reads or Amazon, the controversial books such as Twilight, 50 Shades of Gray, Harry Potter, or The Goldfinch become best sellers, while the books that aren't controversial disappear from print in a scant few months regardless of their literary value. Writers and artists are like it or not at the mercy of the public, who will hold them accountable - regardless of whether they should.