On the
double-edged satire at the heart of Mark Twain’s first big hit.
I haven’t done
an exhaustive survey or anything, but it seems to me that most social or
political satire
is both directed at a particular target and driven by an earnest embrace of
some alternative idea. Take perhaps the most famous satirical work of all time,
Jonathan Swift’s “A Modest
Proposal” (1729): seems to be suggesting that the solution to the problems
of Irish poverty and hunger is to eat Irish babies; is really satirizing
English bigotry toward the Irish; and so is genuinely (if of course very
subtly) pro-Irish instead. Similarly, Joseph
Heller’s Catch-22 (1961)
satirizes virtually every aspect of war (even a war as seemingly noble as World
War II) while sympathizing quite overtly and poignantly with its soldier
protagonists; Heller’s satire would to my mind be entirely unsuccessful if we
didn’t come to care about those soldiers. Certainly there are satirical voices
which take on all comers (The Onion comes to mind), but for the
most part, I’d say that social satire needs the accompanying earnest advocacy
to function.
Mark Twain’s
most famous character, Huck Finn, proves that point quite precisely: Huck
is painfully earnest, almost always unable to recognize humor at all (for
example), and it is through that earnest perspective that Twain creates his satires
of numerous aspects of antebellum (and postbellum) Southern and American society.
But Twain’s first book, the travelogue Innocents Abroad;
or, The New Pilgrim’s Progress (1869, revised from 1867 newspaper
pieces), is much more confusingly and crucially all-encompassing in its
satirizing. At first glance Twain seems to be satirizing the reverent tone and
attitude of typical travelogues, and thus too the Old World cultures which demand
such reverence; but at the same time, his American travelers, including the
author himself, come in for just as much ridicule, most especially for their
ignorance of these other cultures and their tendency toward pro-American
provincialism. If both communities are ultimately, equally foolish and silly,
though, it’s fair to ask whether the satire has a point.
Innocents is unquestionably a messy and
sprawling book (reflecting at least in part its origins in those many different
newspaper pieces), but I’d argue that its satire is in fact pointed precisely
in its multi-directionality. After all, one of the central goals of any
satirist must be to create discomfort, to force an audience out of any and all
comfort zones and into the space where established narratives or norms are
challenged and made literally laughable. While Heller’s book (for example)
certainly does so when it comes to any and all pro-war narratives, it might at
the same time make already anti-war readers more
comfortable, reinforce their existing views and ideas. That’s not necessarily a
bad thing (again, having an earnest point can make the satire of other points
more successful), but there’s something to be said for a satire that doesn’t
let any of us get too comfortable in where we are or what we believe. And that’s
doubly true for a travel satire—whether we think home is always the best or are
just constantly searching for somewhere better, we’re likely to be
over-simplifying both places, and Twain’s book forces us to push beyond those
simplifications and continue our journey in a more complex perspective.
Next
Americans abroad tomorrow,
Ben
PS. What
do you think? Responses or suggestions of works about Americans abroad?
8/8 Memory
Day nominee: Bob Smith, the physician and longtime
alcoholic whose founding of
Alcoholics Anonymous has not only helped
many millions of Americans, but has helped change our
cultural attitudes toward addiction.
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