Monday, July 26, 2010

The chosen directors of his prejudice

The one singular feature of the room was a small, glass-doored bookcase, full of volumes. They were all of Richard's purchasing; to survey them was to understand the man, at all events on his intellectual side. Without exception they belonged to that order of literature which, if studied exclusively and for its own sake, --as here it was, -- brands a man indelibly, declaring at once the incompleteness of his education and the deficiency of his instincts. Social, political, religious, --under these three heads the volumes classed themselves, and each class was represented by productions of the 'extreme' school. The books which a bright youth of fair opportunities reads as a matter of course, rejoices in for a year or two, then throws aside for ever, were here treasured to be the guides of a lifetime. Certain writers of the last century, long ago become only historically interesting, were for Richard an armoury whence he girded himself for the battles of the day; cheap reprints or translations of Malthus, of Robert Owen, of Volney's 'Ruins,' of Thomas Paine, of sundry works of Voltaire, ranked upon his shelves. Moreover, there was a large collection of pamphlets, titled wonderfully and of yet more remarkable contents, the authoritative utterances of contemporary gentlemen --and ladies-- who made it the end of their existence to prove: that there cannot by any possibility be such a person as Satan; that the story of creation contained in the Book of Genesis is on no account to be received; that the begetting of children is a most deplorable oversight; that to eat flesh is wholly unworthy of a civilised being; that if every man and woman performed their quota of the world's labour it would be necessary to work for one hour and thirty-seven minutes daily, no jot longer, and that the author, in each case, is the one person capable of restoring dignity to a down-trodden race and happiness to a blasted universe.

Alas, alas! On this food had Richard Mutimer pastured his soul since he grew to manhood, on this and this only. English literature was to him a sealed volume; poetry he scarcely knew by name; of history he was worse than ignorant, having looked at this period and that through distorting media, and congratulating himself on his clear vision because he saw men as trees walking; the bent of his mind would have led him to natural science, but opportunities of instruction were lacking, and the chosen directors of his prejudice taught him to regard every fact, every discovery, as for or against something.

--George Gissing, Demos (1892)


Reading Habits of Fictional Characters

5 comments:

frisbeebookjournal said...

I love the quote!

I must admit I gave up on Demos (in Vol. 2) but Gissing is one of my favorites, and if iturns out a better book than I expected, let me know and I'll pick it up again.

SFP said...

I'm not that far along yet, he's just now thinking about dumping Emma. But I'm enjoying it so far.
It was one of Orwell's favorites, but then, he had difficulty laying his hands on a lot of Gissing's books.

Have you read Born in Exile? I'd intended to read that one next before I saw your first post on Demos and had my mind changed. :)

Danielle said...

You've finished Ulysses and not written about it? Do tell. I was curious if you had read Ivy Compton Burnett, so I was looking at your reading list....

Class factotum said...

I am reading this book based on your recommendation. I laughed when I came to that passage because hey, nothing changes!

SFP said...

I'm thrilled that you're reading Gissing! You've made my day. :)