How Do You Solve A Problem Like the Classics?

 by Russell Olson

Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World (1932) has just started airing on UK TVs. The Secret Garden (1911) comes to UK cinemas at the end of the month. Macbeth (1606) will grace the silver screen next year. The classics never die, they just get adapted. Beyond mining them for the next big hit, they form a cornerstone of our literary heritage and reveal timeless truths about the human condition. They are living works that bring the inner voices of our forebears into the present, and can act as widely understood frameworks on which we can hang new narrative canvases. Sometimes, however, they paint a less than flattering picture of the original speaker. In fact, the views of some of our literary giants could be considered extreme, insulting, problematic and hurtful. We celebrate Shakespeare, Dickens, Elliott, the Brontes--but would we invite them to dinner? 

Perhaps after a visit from an older relative where a handful of inflamatory statements about diversity, homosexuality, and gender equality are trotted out to awkward silence, a family member has turned to you and said “Don’t pay too much attention to Uncle Wilbur. He’s a product of his time.” 

A product of their time.

Is this acceptable? Is it a deserved “get out of jail free” card? Sure, they may have been born in a different era, but Maya Angelou, James Baldwin, and Martin Luther King Jr. were all born in the 1920s, the same decade as many of my older relatives (including my grandparents). In the United States, the 1960s saw a wave of legislation aimed at giving civil rights to minorities. Homosexuality was legalized in the UK in 1967. The Equal Pay Act came into law in 1970. Are our values set in aspic during the first few years of our lives? Obviously, not. So why do we offer each other the “product of their time” alibi? And should we do the same for classic works of fiction?

This leaves us with a question: What do we do with the prejudices cemented in our historical literature? Do we edit them? Annotate them? Censor them? Put them in locked cabinets? They’re like family; they’re part of our genealogy. You wouldn’t disinherit Uncle Wilbur...or would you? 

During today’s LitSoc meeting, I presented the idea of placing a contextual book-plate, a disclaimer of sorts, at the front of classic works which house taboos which today would struggle to sneak past an editorial eye.

(A draft version of the proposed book-plate)

On behalf of the library, I presented the above draft as well as our dilemma. The attendees offered their own reflections on the topic and delved deeper into a wider conversation about intention, censorship, and audience. The discussion reflected an acknowledgement that a disclaimer would be a useful tool to engender conversation, promote empathy, and prepare readers for uncomfortable words, actions and ideas.

The LitSoc participants felt that this type of programme would need to be implemented on a case by case basis, be open to an extension of criteria (looking at misogyny for example), and push assessors to examine texts through lenses outside their personal experiences and identity.

The discussion ended with a final question: What aspects of our society which seem acceptable or even mundane might be viewed with scorn by future generations? 

For more on this subject, keep your eyes peeled for essays from Dr Webb’s examining The Secret Garden and Ms Hill’s personal reflections on Vanity Fair.