Читать книгу Clementine Classics: Sister Carrie by Theodore Dreiser - Theodore Dreiser - Страница 5

Introduction

Clementine the Hedgehog

I do not like Victorian novels. In fact, I am strictly a contemporary fiction ‘hog. I’m a sucker for sparse writing and constant plot development, two things that just don’t seem to happen in old timey books. But as I near middle age (I’m almost two fucking years old—how did that happen?) I feel like I should be embracing new things, starting with the books I read. I thumbed through some of the classics, and God, was that a mistake. Austen? Grow a fucking pair. Hardy? Yawn. Dickens? More like dickhead.

I finally settled on Theodore Dreiser’s Sister Carrie because it seemed like a story that could take place today, preferably in a sitcom: starry-eyed waif moves to the big city and falls under the influence of rich, older men. I’m somewhat of a cultural anthropologist living amongst you humans, and the ideals romanticized in this book—materialism, fame, true love, social standing, happiness— would make any hedgehog guffaw.

Not surprisingly, I found myself astounded by Victorian culture and couldn’t help but compare it to the hedgehog world. As a species, we may defecate in public and be prone to mites, but goddamn, are we more socially advanced. Sister Carrie is a clusterfuck of repressed desires, bougie decadence, casual racism, and patriarchal tyranny. That shit just wouldn’t fly within the hedgehog community. We’ve simply evolved past that, and you humans are practically barbaric in comparison.

And the writing. I consider myself an educated rodent—hell, I can quote Foster Wallace in my sleep—so when I come across paragraphs clogged with sentences that are so fucking flowery they give me dander allergies, of course I’m going to lose my shit. Theodore Dreiser wasn’t exactly respected among his peers for his writing prowess. In fact, a renowned British publisher once claimed his prose had a “slovenly, turgid style.” And that’s being generous. Some of his paragraphs could put a tweaking meth head to sleep. A fun drinking game: down a shot every time Dreiser uses the word “halcyon.”

Sister Carrie came out around the same time as acclaimed English novels like Middlemarch, Great Expectations, and Heart of Darkness. Dreiser wanted to write the next great American novel, and his desperation pervades the book like an unsavory pit stain. The novel may center on a simple girl from the Midwest, but he tries to infuse every fiber of the story with seemingly deep, transcending wisdom. That shit doesn’t work when your heroine is the Victorian equivalent of a Kardashian.

You’re probably wondering why I even bothered finishing the damn thing. True, the writing made my quills itch, but the story itself was fucking compelling. Who doesn’t love a good underdog? The pacing could’ve used some speeding up, but I couldn’t deny that I was rooting for Sister Carrie to channel her inner bitch and take charge. I definitely suffered from a couple of rage blackouts while reading, but what can I say? I get emotionally invested in books, and I’ll throw Dreiser a bone for getting me sucked into this trainwreck.