The “dime novels” popular in the Civil War

The “dime novels” popular in the Civil War

“Blood-and-thunder”

                for only 10 cents

 

There were “westerns” before John Wayne put his mark on them.

The men in blue and gray in the Civil War—the ones who could read, and the ones who had buddies who could read—were avid fans of the dime novel.

New printing technologies in 1860 made it possible to churn out an endless succession of the cheap (10 cents, hence “dime novel”) so-called “blood-and-thunder” stories, often about heroes of the American West like Kit Carson.

These dime novels in the mid-19th century were the “westerns” before Hollywood invented the movie genre of the same name in the early 20th century.

The flood of cheap books was unleashed by improvements in the steam printing press and stereotype plates—these were the cast metal plates that used a reversed image of a full page on the press. The resulting increase in productivity and cost reduction permitted publishers to do huge press runs of the formula “western” novels that were written by assembly lines of writers. Some of the more respectable authors cranked out a new book every three months. Some of the hacks claimed to be able to produce a brand new novel in 24 hours. As you might guess, originality and quality weren’t the high priority standards of excellence.

Jill Lepore, in The Story of America: Essays on Origins, notes: “Blood-and-thunders were ‘sent to the army in the field by cords, like unsawed firewood,’ one contemporary reported. After the war, dime novel westerns cultivated a vast, largely Eastern, and altogether male audience: they were the first mass market fiction sold to men and boys.”(1)

Dime novel readers who weren’t Kit Carson (1809-1868) fans must have been a rare breed. Between 1860 and 1900, the American frontiersman was the hero of more than seven of the popular books.

 

(1) Jill Lepore, The Story of America: Essays on Origins (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2012), 212, 217.

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Book review. Copyright © Richard Carl Subber 2017 All rights reserved.

Up for the counting

…he picks up the rhythm…(a poem)

“Numerology”

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In other words: Poems for your eyes and ears with 64 free verse and haiku poems,
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Book review: Shakespeare: The World as Stage

Book review: Shakespeare: The World as Stage

Book review:

Shakespeare: The World as Stage

 

By Bill Bryson (b.1951)

Atlas Books, HarperCollins Publishers, New York, 2007

199 pages

 

You don’t have to be a great big Shakespeare fan (I’m not) to have a good experience reading this book. If you’re a Bill Bryson (A Walk in the Woods) fan, you have another reason to pick it up.

This is the kind of book that makes me eager to turn each page and read more, and write a new book review. Bryson writes in his usual well-informed style. He marshals entertaining facts and frames of reference. He’s convincing when he debunks some of the notorious myths about The Bard.

F’rinstance, about 5,000 books have been written by folks who don’t think Shakespeare wrote all those plays and sonnets, and who suggest the names of about four dozen 17th century contemporaries who might have been the real author(s). Bryson offers this guidance about the risible claims that other authors created Hamlet and such: “…no one has ever produced…the tiniest particle of evidence to suggest that they actually did so.”(1)

Mostly we don’t know much of anything about Shakespeare’s private and public life. There are several years during his life that are a complete blank in the historical record. He was a successful poet and playwright. He worked closely with a successful thespian troupe. He was a husband and a parent.

Shakespeare Hamlet

Here’s the thing: Shakespeare was not a colossal celebrity during his lifetime. No one knew he would become the most revered genius of English literature. No one realized that he was adding 600 words like critical, excellent, leapfrog, and zany to the English language. No one knew that more or less every English speaker today from time to time uses phrases first conceived by William Shakespeare, like budge an inch and foregone conclusion.

 

Shakespeare was only one of many playwrights in his time—we know him now because he is a creature of buzz and a beneficiary of a couple gents who decided to publish all his works (the First Folio, published 1623) a number of years after he died.

About 80% of the roughly 3,000 plays by many authors that were performed in Shakespeare’s time are completely lost—we know their titles and nothing more. Most plays were performed only for a short time, and never published.

The fact that we can casually talk about anything “Shakespearean” is more or less the result of serendipity.

Oh, by the way, despite the fact that you and everyone else can recognize the iconic likeness of Shakespeare, there is no surviving portrait that was painted during his lifetime and no one knows what he really looked like.

Note: (1) Bryson, 195

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Book review. Copyright © Richard Carl Subber 2017 All rights reserved.

“…the truth is putting on its shoes.”

Mark Twain gets it right, again…(quote)

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Writing Rainbows: Poems for Grown-Ups with 59 free verse and haiku poems,
and the rest of my poetry books are for sale on Amazon (paperback and Kindle)
and free in Kindle Unlimited, search Amazon for “Richard Carl Subber”

 

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Book review: St. Ives, Being the Adventures of a French Prisoner in England

Book review: St. Ives, Being the Adventures of a French Prisoner in England

Taking another look

at Stevenson’s St. Ives

 

 

Book review:

St. Ives,

Being the Adventures

of a French Prisoner in England

 

by Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894)

New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1907

438 pages

 

This is a re-do of my earlier post on Stevenson’s St. Ives, because I now confess that I stopped reading at p. 390. So, don’t worry about spoilers….

I’ve always embraced a coldly mechanical willingness to stop reading a book whenever the time comes….in St. Ives, the time comes at Chapter XXXI.

Stevenson died after writing XXX chapters of St. Ives. Perhaps not too many eyebrows were raised when a respected contemporary writer, Sir Arthur Thomas Quiller-Couch, wrote the remaining six chapters from Stevenson’s notes.

Stevenson’s oeuvre is fastidiously lush, precise, sophisticated, with deeply contextual character development and dialogue that leaves me breathless with anticipation for more. There’s an abstractly beautiful love interest. Did I mention that I’m a fan of 19th century prose?

Quiller-Couch doubtless had his merits as a 19th century writer. He ain’t no Stevenson.

Q-C’s contribution to St. Ives lacks the prepossessing heartiness of Stevenson’s dialogue and storyline.

Q-C can’t quite gin up the panache and persiflage that RLS animates on nearly every page.

Q-C makes a too sincere but unavailing effort to match the rural patois that Stevenson offers for the reader’s delight.

Q-C bungles the parlous adventures of the eponymous protagonist, injecting a wretched slapstick element that leads an RLS fan to transition uncomfortably into pursed-lips mode.

Stevenson’s prosaic mastery is, sadly, missing in the last six chapters of St. Ives, and, therefore, ignorance shall be my penalty for closing this truncated masterpiece before I reached the end.

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Book review. Copyright © Richard Carl Subber 2017 All rights reserved.

 On this website you can read: my poetry in free verse and 5-7-5 format—nature poems, love poems, poems about grandchildren, and a spectrum of other topics—written in a way that makes it possible for you to know, as precisely as possible, what’s going on in my mind and in my imagination; thoughtful book reviews that offer some exceptional critique of the book instead of a simple book summary; examinations of history that did and didn’t happen; examples of my love affair with words; reflections on the quotations, art, and wisdom of famous and not-so-famous people, and occasional comments on politics and human nature.

Your comments on my poems, book reviews and other posts are welcome.

 

Book review: Grace Notes

Is it prose or poetry?

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My first name was rain: A dreamery of poems with 53 free verse and haiku poems,
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and free in Kindle Unlimited, search Amazon for “Richard Carl Subber”

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Book review: Grace Notes

Book review: Grace Notes

Book review:

Grace Notes

 

by Brian Doyle

Chicago, IL: ACTA Publications, 2011

 

You know, some of Brian Doyle’s prose, in this collection of his musings and essays, comes pretty close to my concept of poetry.

You ask why? Doyle is so particular, and so deft, in choosing the right words to frame his mood, his awareness, and his imagination in so many examples.

Try this excerpt from “Their Thin Bony Shoulders.” Doyle was invited to tell some stories and otherwise talk to nuns in their Benedictine monastery in Oregon. Among other subjects, he told them about “my mama.”

“And I stood there at the lectern, in that cavernous room in that lovely old monastery, with its cedared air like music in the nose, the extraordinary faces of the nuns held up to me in the twilight, and I tried to imagine or articulate or conceive a world without my mother in it, and I started to cry, and I could not stop.

Forty-nine years old, and still sobbing in front of nuns.

No one spoke.”

Don’t even try to pretend that your eyes aren’t a bit damp.

 

In Doyle’s Grace Notes, you can also take some time with “Advice to My Son,” “A Child is Not a Furniture,” “On Miraculousness,” and 33 other treats from his inquiring and incisive mind.

 

Book review: The Blithedale Romance

by Nathaniel Hawthorne, not his best…

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Book review. Copyright © Richard Carl Subber 2017 All rights reserved.

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Seeing far: Selected poems with 47 free verse and haiku poems,
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“Many waters cannot quench love.”

“Many waters cannot quench love.”

Book review:

St. Ives

by Robert Louis Stevenson

 

 

“Many waters cannot quench love.”

Robert Louis Balfour Stevenson (1850-1894)

Scottish novelist, poet, all-purpose writer

 

Stevenson is rightly famous for Treasure Island and The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde

 

Chain links on St. IvesHe’s not so famous for his last (uncompleted) novel, St Ives: Being the Adventures of a French Prisoner in England (1897). It was finished from Stevenson’s notes by Sir Arthur Thomas Quiller-Couch, a talented British writer.

St. Ives is unmistakable 19th century prose, through and through—Stevenson’s oeuvre is fastidiously lush, precise, sophisticated, with deeply contextual character development and dialogue that leaves me breathless with anticipation for more. Did I mention that I’m a fan of 19th century prose?

 

There is a love interest, of course. It involves a prim but worldly Scottish maiden and the eponymous French prisoner, a nobleman whose service to Napoleon has ended in captivity in Edinburgh. Stevenson allows le prisonnier, M. le Vicomte de St. Ives, to confidently speculate on his prospects with the lady: “Many waters cannot quench love.”

Indeed. Read St. Ives to get the whole story.

The quote “Many waters cannot quench love” is from Song of Solomon, 8:7

Book review. Copyright © Richard Carl Subber 2017 All rights reserved.

Up for the counting

…he picks up the rhythm…(a poem)

“Numerology”

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Above all: Poems of dawn and more with 73 free verse poems,
and the rest of my poetry books are for sale on Amazon (paperback and Kindle)
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The Homeplace (book review)

The Homeplace (book review)

Book review:

The Homeplace

 

by Marilyn Nelson Waniek (b.1946)

Prize-winning American poet

Baton Rouge, LA: Louisiana State University Press, 1990

 

Thinking about writing this review of The Homeplace re-boots the cold explosion in my self.

Honestly, there was turmoil in this reading.

Marilyn Nelson Waniek is a respected black poet. I’m an old white guy who writes and cares about poetry.

I don’t read much poetry by other writers that appeals to me. I know this doesn’t make me special. I think it’s an ordinary experience.

When I say much of Marilyn Nelson’s work doesn’t appeal to me, that doesn’t signify much of anything out of the ordinary.

When I say that some of poems wrap their hands around my throat and squeeze directly through to my soul, I mean exactly what those words mean.

It’s not “black poetry,” let’s get that straight. That term necessarily implies that there is “white poetry.” I think there are ways to characterize poetry, but the demeaning simplicity of “black poetry” or “white poetry” isn’t acceptable. I think it’s not possible. Poetry is personal, and it doesn’t have a skin color.

Here’s an excerpt from The Homeplace: these are words from “Chosen,” an understated account of a white Southern master and Diverne, a young black woman who is his slave, and Pomp, their son.

 

“Diverne wanted to die, that August night

his face hung over hers, a sweating moon.

She wished so hard, she killed part of her heart

…And the man who came

out of a twelve-room house and ran to her

close shack across three yards that night, to leap

onto her cornshuck pallet. Pomp was their

share of the future. And it wasn’t rape.

In spite of her raw terror. And his whip.”

 

I’d like to say I think I want to walk a mile in Marilyn Nelson’s shoes.

Maybe I was able to trudge a few steps when I read her poems.

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Walking on the beach is so personal

Do you remember?…”Take your time,” my poem

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Book review. Copyright © Richard Carl Subber 2017 All rights reserved.

Writing Rainbows: Poems for Grown-Ups with 59 free verse and haiku poems,

and the rest of my poetry books are for sale on Amazon (paperback and Kindle)

and free in Kindle Unlimited, search Amazon for “Richard Carl Subber”

 

 

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