For me to get suctioned into a classic tale, something must be resonating on the printed page. For the most part, classic tales have a noble quality about them, and it’s easy to respect their authors for their pre-digital typewriter ability to capture my rapture. In fact, the entire writing process before the typewriter is fascinating! Yet beyond the mere mechanics of it, the content of these fictive tales is the real substance that excites my admiration. Without tapping the modern, sensational crutch of sex and violence to hold the attention of readers, I have found that authors from the late 1800s instead use story to cause their readers to ponder and embrace the same complex, abstract, moral dilemmas that baffle us today. And using a real story to enthrall a reader is just my type of vacuum cleaner.
When I was younger and still attending various youth groups and high school focused events, I remember being invited to the homes of our pastors. There, with my peers lounging on every available seat and occupying every open corner, I listened to many musings on school, sports, music, and relationships. Not many book musings, I’m sorry to admit, but because these gatherings were still associated with church, and we oftentimes thematically would be tackling eschatological issues, the question would be posed to the group of which person we would bring back from the dead for a day if we could. Yeshua and Solomon were popular choices then, but the concept of sitting down with some past historical character and picking their brain as to their life adventures still sets my imagination on fire. Imagine meeting your favorite author. How much more would an author's story come to life if they could verbally set the backdrop? Perhaps this meet-and-greet would spoil the enigma of the masterpiece for the average reader, but for an aspiring author like I am, who wants to understand how great authors' ravishing conceptions were birthed and developed, I doubt there would be spoilage.
By and far, Robert Louis Stevenson is one of those personas that I would want to interview. Yes, as a reader, I am inspired by his stark characters, plot twists, and tasteful motifs, but as an author, I am curious to know how toilsome it was to produce such mesmerizing works. What life experiences did Robert have to endure to effectively let such natural consequences play out on his characters? Or was his golden content grazed from a park bench, people watching? I would pay to know. As if I'm still eyes open and learning to dodge the dangers in life, I can turn page after page of Robert's novels. Yet without fail, after flipping the last page of each of his books, I am left contemplating the fallout and the transformations of the characters. Even after the buzz of the tales tapers a little with time, the itch to analyze still resurfaces, and back I go, regenerating the troubles and the sentiments of the characters to weigh them like a judge. Robert’s novels certainly have this hard to pin down, suctioning interest, an interest that seems to retain its value despite the plethora of noise available to read in the marketplace.
Treasure Island (1883) — There is a reason you will find countless copies of this book available at used book sales, and the reason is not that the story is mediocre. I read this story out loud to my son, start to finish, night after night, with him lying on his stomach on his bed, his chin propped up by his hands in a near trance. When I would finish a chapter, it was either a plea from him to read another or a jostle of his head as he returned from the figment Robert had created with Jim Hawkins, Long John Silver, a ship, an island, and a treasure map.
The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde (1886) — This story caused me to seriously reflect on my own behavior as a father. Hypocrisy, Dr Jekyll's personal allowance of a little chemical escape, the redefining of the word moderation, the clutch of the aftereffects, the seepage of the unsightliness into personal relations, and the desperate struggle for freedom are all wound into this grim tale. Though this tale dabbles in science-fiction, the parallel to common day struggles is clear and is why the colloquialism of "becoming Mr. Hyde" has survived for more than a century.
Prince Otto (1885) — My most recent read, yes, perhaps out of chronological order as Robert wrote it, was again a Hoover vacuum. The featherhead Prince Otto and the unconditionally loved Seraphina drive this plot, and the implications the book has toward marriage are as gripping as the modern-day tale, The Breakup, except that Robert rightly leaves out the obscene scenes (and Prince Otto and Princess Seraphina are in a YHWH-sanctioned relationship). Thank you, Robert!
Robert Louis Stevenson was a tightrope walker with his character descriptions, a captain of an ocean-crosser with his plots, and a Noah Webster with his vocabulary. My hat is off, and perhaps one day Heaven-side, I'll be able to sit down with Robert and gain his perspective on how he accomplished his craft.
Keep enjoying the vacuums (the 19th century classics),
JH
Photo by Andrew Neel on Unsplash
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