Declaratives never work. There is always an exception for, or an argument against whatever hardened rule someone creates. Always. But what happens to Pinocchio’s nose when he says, “I’m lying”? We don’t always have the answers, and when talking about pop culture, those untrustworthy declaratives remain perpetually flawed, but they also become incredibly interesting. To Kill a Mockingbird is about to turn 50 and we’ll be inundated with wonderfully nostalgic rants about the book being the best novel of the 20th century, or the most important American book ever, or the first “this”, and the last “that”. The book deserves high praise, but I’m launching a pre-emptive strike. Other than being the best book Harper Lee ever wrote, it’s not the best anything. And despite being, possibly, the most read American novel of the 20th century, it can’t touch the upper echelon of American literature. You should read To Kill a Mockingbird, everybody should read it, but lets not overstate its place in history. That being said, hyperbole is also fun. So I’ve come up with some hyperbolic declaratives that are absolutely, positively, 100 percent true, and are beyond brilliant. Watch out James Wood.
James Joyce’s Ulysses is the best novel of the 20th century–the best novel ever written. Even though it borrows obviously and heavily from Homer, it resembles nothing before its publication in that most wonderful year, 1922, and, even though the world has gotten faster and smaller, everything in literature written post-1922 bears its mark. The book is a beast. It’ll tear you down. And while everybody should read To Kill a Mockingbird, not everybody should read Ulysses. The novel requires motivation. Joyce’s Ulysses is a novel of eighteen episodes, which take place about an hour apart, set in Dublin between 8:00 a.m. and 3:00 am, June 16-17, 1904. Focused on a teacher and writer named Stephen Dedalus, a salesman named Leopold Bloom, and Leopold’s wife, Molly Bloom, the novel parallels Homer’s Ulysses with Leopold playing the hero and Molly the Penelope. And while it’s important to remember Homer when reading Ulysses, it’s also important to remember that this book isn’t a resurrection, it’s a funeral. If Gustave Flaubert and Emile Zola murdered the 19th century novel, Joyce’s novel coldly shovels the dirt on top of the coffin. Inner dialogue and ugly stops mix with moments of bliss and excrement to make the book feel like a living thing. A living body. And like a living body, it’s perfect and precise while still having back hair and cellulite.
Louis Armstrong is the most important person in the history of American music. Thomas Brothers’ book Louis Armstrong’s New Orleans is the best book I’ve read on Armstrong. Around 1820 the black slaves of New Orleans were allowed a few hours of freedom to express themselves musically. This freedom happened in a place called Congo Square. Originally, styles were a mixture of work songs, spirituals, and Caribbean beats, but as the Congo Square tradition grew, so did the musical influences, with ragtime and blues adding to an already bold mix. This strong, driven music was spotted with artists seeing just how free the music could make them feel through improvisation and tangents. This wonderful recipe created jazz, and Louis Armstrong, born in 1900, was there to see the young music reach its adolescence. He would be the one to take it to adulthood.
Brothers’ book tells the story of Armstrong’s incredible beginnings on the muddy streets of New Orleans, where he was rough and violent and talented. The book takes him to the doorstep of King Oliver, and with Oliver as he leaves New Orleans for Chicago. Jazz is the most important invention in American music, and Armstrong shared a similar birthplace. So, if New Orleans invented jazz, and then invented Louis Armstrong to be its messenger, it’s a simple leap to make the case for Armstrong’s unparalleled importance.
My two declaratives: Ulysses is the greatest novel of all time, and Louis Armstrong is the most important person in the history of American music. They’re as wrong as any other declaration. Subjectivity is wonderful. But as of right now, I think they hold up to scrutiny pretty well. Don’t believe me? Come on in, read the books, then tell me if you still think I’m wrong. Or you can read To Kill a Mockingbird, because it’s a great book, too.
–Brian Contine
BookPeople 