Mark Twain is full of himself.
In reading his century-awaited autobiography over the last few months, that is the quickest and most reoccurring analysis I have come to.
Mr. Twain was a proud man. Very proud of his own accomplishments, talents, opinions, business savvy, connections and, seemingly, his temper as well. He is also a merciless name-dropper. I’ve never seen so much effort put into dropping names that has had the most unimpressive effect (given the removal of a century between the impresser and his audience.)
Don’t let that distract you from picking this one up though! Mark Twain is full of himself. But, in the most blatant yet endearing way.
He has an effective way of convincing you that he was constantly surrounded by people less intelligent than he. People who needed his opinion thrust on them in every matter of their lives. People who surely would have come to utter ruin if they had not crossed his path. And, THESE were his friends. Reading about his enemies is where it gets really entertaining!
Twain’s saving grace is, no matter how many paragraphs are dedicated to knocking his chums down a notch or two, they are always book ended by a gracious statements of, “Oh well. He was a kind man and I enjoyed his company.” And, he must have too, because he continues to keep their company and they become reoccurring characters throughout his story. It’s who Twain was. You soon come to accept it and read on.
His memoir feels part like homework, part letter-from-home and, perhaps, part tabloid fodder (if we could only figure out who these littered names belong to!)
Given its thickness, it’s tempting to want to bypass any chapter that starts off slow. I almost did this on several occasion but, upon sticking with it, came across something wonderfully delightful in boredom’s wake. If you are going to skim, do it only paragraphs at a time rather than in entire chapters. Whether you become lost on the people, places or language of the time, Twain will always bring you back with a overly-descriptive gem that suddenly absorbs you into that setting where you can finally picture yourself there.
Skipping a chapter may also cause you to miss something you’ve been anticipating. Since much of it is taken from dictations, these chapters wind and weave and suddenly become something other than what they started out to be. Many passages, paragraphs in, have him suddenly realizing that a tale---one he had already perfectly drawn you into the scenery of---was being recited from the wrong memory. "No. Wait, now… It wasn’t such-and-such at wherever, it was such-and-who and over here that this happened. And, maybe a decade later..." And, so he begins to delicately paint a brand new picture of the same story.
Not my favorite reading style, but it’s what he insisted on. You become as patient as you would be with a beloved grandparent who speaks in much the same manner. Those cases where respect and adoration restrain you from saying, “C’mon! Quick circling the block and cut to the chase!” And, since the book also keeps no chronological order, skipping ahead will lead you nowhere expected.
I enjoyed the essay-styled chapters myself. Especially ones written about his family and his childhood. It's a sweet change of pace when he speaks of his family. They seem to earn only pride and reverence from his pen... and I love that! These were the gems I sought out.
I’m only about 70% through it. But, I’m sure I’ve gathered enough information to produce my review. Hopefully, making the remaining 30% feel less like homework and more like sitting at the foot of Grandpa’s rocker. We’ll see!
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