From Montaigne in the sixteenth century to Orwell, Eliot, and Trilling in the twentieth, the best literary essayists combine a gift for observation with an abiding commitment to books. Although it may seem that books are becoming less essential and that a revolution in sensibility is taking place, the essays of Arthur Krystal suggest otherwise. Companionable without being chummy, engaged without being didactic, erudite without being stuffy, he demonstrates that literature, even in the digital age, remains the truest expression of the human condition.Covering subjects as diverse as aphorisms, dueling, the night, and the 1960s, the essays gathered here offer the common reader uncommon pleasure. In prose that is both vibrant and elegant, Krystal negotiates among myriad subjects-from historical writing as exemplified by Jacques Barzun to the art of screenwriting as not so happily represented by F. Scott Fitzgerald. His cardinal rule as a writer? William Hazlitt's "Confound it, man, don't be insipid." No fear of that. Except When I Write is thoughtful in the most joyful sense--brimming with ideas in order to give us the flow and cadence of someone actually thinking.Keenly observant and death on pretension, Krystal examines the world of books without ever losing sight of the world beyond them. Literature may be the bedrock on which these essays rest, but as F. R. Leavis aptly noted, "One cannot seriously be interested in literature and remain purely literary in interests." Except When I Write is a reminder of both the pleasure and the power of a well-tuned essay.
Krystal is one of the more interesting essayists I've read recently. My previous experience with him had been in a collection called Agitations, which was so filled with exciting ideas that it was a lot like discovering entirely new concepts and ways of seeing. The essays in Except When I Write, while still thought-provoking and engaging, are less heady. Here is appealing writing on the work of William Hazlitt and Edgar Allan Poe's detective fiction, and an appraisal of F. Scott Fitzgerald's screenwriting in Hollywood. I'm not sure they give us any new understanding of the writers. They don't inspire us to read their work. The portrait of Jacques Barzun may be the most compelling of the essays about other writers. The obvious affection Krystal felt for the man, and the gratitude he feels for what he learned from him, is a pleasurable and informative homage. There are reviews of books: one on the Great Depression, another on the import of the 60s. The best is last. I was most engaged by Krystal's personal essay of his time as a hotel night man and what that taught him about his inability to write good fiction, that his real talent lay in writing about books rather than writing the books themselves. To our benefit. I like to think that his critical work gives us more "aha" moments than his fiction would.
I read this in fits and starts so it's hard to look back on the book as a whole. But I quite enjoyed most of the essays, and found myself wanting to read the books he writes about.
Krystal takes a strong shot at much of what we call literature these days (and the old stuff too, sometimes). About half way through the book, I wondered if his title is a humorous statement that what he writes about the problems of literature can’t be applied to what he writes.
True or not, this is a good book for any English professor who teaches literature AND the many other people who read books old and new. The first pages focus on speaking and writing. Early on, we get “Saying noting isn’t the problem; it’s saying something or doing anything.”
He reminds us “When speaking each of us is a work in progress.” And he cites Proust: “A book is the product of a different self from the self we manifest in our habits, in our social life, in our vices.” He also takes a few words from Poe about the process of writing: “People talk about thinking, but for my part I newver think except when I set down to write.” He also takes the idea of a well known Harvard prof who says that thinking proceeds writing is because we deliberately set out to be clear and precise, a luxury not usually afforded us in to conversation.” Good information for college professors to take into the classroom.
At the same time, the author opens Chapter 2 with the reminder that all books will end up as dust. And he reminds us that the light bulb expanded reading significantly while books have significant limits. For example, we can write a history of comedy but not of laughter.
We get a reference to Nietzsche and within a page he’s us reading about writing for Hollywood. “Art is what you can get away with.” (p.56) And then we get “Anything that can educate can also manipulate, and anything selling anything to the public ….knows the power of each-to-remember expressions.” (p.57)
Every chapter title has a well known person or idea followed by an clever second title. For example, Chapter 5 is The Usual Suspect: Edgar Allan Poe, Consulting Detective. This chapter is a study of language in fiction.
The theme goes on in chapter six with “A Man for All Reasons.” The focus is on the writer who is known more for who he (she) is than what he (she) writes. (p. 87)
There’s a chapter on: En Garde! The Duel in History, where we get to talk about both Hamilton and Monty Python.
For chapter 8, Some Remarks on the Pitfalls of Biography takes some shots at Cheever and Salinger. The most powerful chapter (#9) goes with some depth into F. Scott Fitzgerald in Hollywood
In chapter 10, The Worst of Times Revisiting the Great Depression shows up. Krystal says that the books we align with the Depression are a gift to Communists (where there we some around). At the same time, he explains the “uneasy relationship” between the arts and human needs. This chapter has the biggest problems and questions about writing
At the same time, he writes that the writing in the Depression and the Civil War brought out the best writing. (p. 161)
In Chapter 11, The Long Goodbye: The Sixties—In Pace Requiem, there’s little historians can find agreement. It was a time of assault on the senses.
After delivering so many evaluations about writers, Krystal finishes with a chapter labels “The Night Man Or Why I’m Not a Novelist.” That’s we were get some of the challenges to doing reviews and we get some humor.
Most Goodread readers will enjoy the book but we won’t all agree about its analysis. If Goodreads had a course about how to do reviews, we would be reading this book (and others, of course).
This collection of essays was an interesting read. Each felt like a genuine chapter of Krystal's literary thoughts. I know, I just stated the obvious because this was a collection of his thoughts and this was a book of chapters; what I really meant was that this book felt like an actual book and not a disjointed mess of articles, which was what I expected going in.
Krystal's a funny guy and he has things to say, and I was happy to listen. The facts and his humor (sarcasm included) were balanced, as all things should be. Granted, some parts felt like a history lesson. Still, there was always an eventual point to his thoughts and I appreciated that. And he was forthright, insightful and never annoying in his narrative.
I thought about giving it a five, but it wasn't perfect enough. A three also came into my head, especially during the uninteresting parts of the history lessons, but this book was too enjoyable for that. I'd say between a 3.75 and a 4.25.
Krystal lumbers the end of this collection with two essays, one about the 1930s and another about the 1960s, where his thought fails him. The freshness with which he writes about his old teacher Barzun or a post-college stint as a night watchman in a residential hotel are sunk. Instead, we get a dictionary of received bourgeois opinion too stale for CSPAN or CBS Sunday Morning. Still, there's much to enjoy here.