There are four significant points about my nearly year long effort to read this amazing work.
First of all, there is the book itself. An oversized hardback at well over five hundred pages, it probably weighs around twenty pounds. This is not a book to be read sitting in a chair or lying horizontally in bed. Instead, one has to sit at a coffee table and lean over. It was simply too heavy to hold in one’s hands. But is it beautifully done: glossy pages, with double columned print and many woodcut engravings by Burne-Jones make it the type of book one smooths one’s hand over each successive page.
Then there is the Middle English language. Although I took an entire course in Chaucer while at university, that was almost fifty years ago, and as I now recall, a lot of my reading was in translated or dual-language texts. Morris’ publication is all in the original Middle English which, for the majority of the time, was somewhat understandable but took a real effort of concentration. Thus, each day I only read but two full pages, with their four columns of print. The whole book took the better part of a year to complete. The helpful glossary at the beginning of the book was consulted each and every day, usually on multiple occasions, and more than twenty pages of notes were made both of words for which translations were provided, and for those which were not. It was the middle level of understanding this language impediment precluded: I could often get the meaning of each particular line of verse, and usually had the overall sense of the story in general, but the general flow of the arc in the narrative I felt was often falling beyond the reach of my comprehension.
Then there is the writer. The dominant adjective I came to feel about this curious figure from the Middle Ages was unpredictable. Taking The Canterbury Tales as a microcosm of his entire body of work, it is so varied and inconsistent as to almost defy description. On one hand, there is the broad humour of the Miller’s Tale but then there is also the pedantic goings on and on of the Parson’s Tale. The bawdiness of the Wife of Bath is as irreverent as the prim code of honour espoused in the ever so proper Knight’s Tale. This disparity applies to his other works. The Treatise on the Astrolabe is a scholarly work on engineering while the translation of Boethius' Consolation of Philosophy tries to reconcile the seeming opposites of human free will and divine foreknowledge. Then, the story of Troilus and Cressida is a sad, romantic tale of love gone wrong through the weakness of a woman, while the Parliament of Fowls and the Legend of Good Women retell classical stories of women done wrong by the male objects of their affection. It would seem that Chaucer could do many different things, and most of them very well, but never really settled down to one particular type of writing.
Indeed, this lack of focus and concentration resulted in at least four of his major works: The Canterbury Tales, the translation of The Romance of the Rose, the Parliament and the Legend all being incomplete. I get the feeling of a man with little sense of self discipline, an inordinate degree of talent: a pre-Renaissance type of renaissance man fascination with a variety of different aspects of the human experience and quite possibly, very poor time management and organizational skills. Still, one cannot help but be continually fascinated by such a cornucopia of literary offerings.
Also, Chaucer is the main writer responsible for the development of English rather than French or Latin as the language of the literature of his country. At the end of his Troilus, he sends off the work with the claim:
And for ther is so great diversitee
In English and in writing of our tonge
So preye I God that noon miswryte thee,
Ne thee mismetre for defaute of tonge.
And red wherso thou be, or elles songe
That thou be understonde I God beseche.
This book is not the easiest to read, but for any true bibliophile, it is a treasure to own. Given the first copy off his press just days before his death, William Morris – who like Chaucer delighted in a wide variety of different types of activities and writings - must have felt an overwhelmingly justified sense of pride in his accomplishment.