The Cream of the Jest

The Biography of Manuel #18

by James Branch Cabell

Fantasy novel.

Genres: Fantasy, Fiction, Speculative Fiction, Novels, Science Fiction Fantasy

275 pages, Paperback

First published October 1, 1917

About the author

James Branch Cabell was an American author of fantasy fiction and belles lettres. Cabell was well regarded by his contemporaries, including H. L. Mencken, Edmund Wilson, and Sinclair Lewis. His works were considered escapist and fit well in the culture of the 1920s, when they were most popular. For Cabell, veracity was "the one unpardonable sin, not merely against art, but against human welfare."

Reviews

[Warren Fournier · Rating 4 out of 5]

This book is misunderstood by other reviewers because, unfortunately, it is too enmeshed with other books of the Dom Manuel series to make sense on its own.

The Dom Manuel series is a roller coaster, and this book would be where the toboggan does an unexpected plunge into a double-down when the ride seems to be over. Though this book does not represent Cabell at the height of his artistic command of the English language, it is the point of his great vision where he pulls together 16 or so of his works into a primitive masterpiece of Sci-fi/fantasy/philosophy. I am not sure how to recommend this book without spoiling it.

First of all, this is probably one of the few Dom Manuel books you can't read on its own merit. If you do, you will have an opinion much like other reviewers of this novel, that the first 30 pages are brilliant and the rest makes no sense. That's because the wonderful fairy tale laid out in the early pages of this novel is part of a larger story that, by this point, if you've read earlier entries of the epic, begins to make sense of the whole mess. This book is the divisive and controversial pseudo-Ending to the Dom Manuel fantasy series.

The novel is about an aurhor writing a fantasy that stars one of his own ancestors, Ettarre, with whom he becomes obsessed and has dreams about her to the point of neglecting his own marriage. Ettarre is one of the most forgotten yet powerful characters in English literature. Though her origins as Dom Manuel's youngest daughter are clear, her transmutation into a myth that controls destinies is shrouded in mystery. Ettarre becomes the embodiment of the scent of the neglected housewife, the memory of a man's youthful crush, the quivering ecstasy of a virgin peasant girl, the majestic power of a goddess, and every erotic image that might haunt the erotic dreams of a person's mind. Those of you who might read this book on its own merit as a fantasy novel may find it confusing if not disturbing in its philosophical take on human thought and relationships. But if you've read any of the Dom Manuel series, you will discover depth here that will keep you up nights contemplating human neurology, the biological evolution of marriage, the magic of genetics, the interface of human thought and reality, and multiple other concepts inspired by the science of the day that had society guessing what role the human being played in the great cosmic poem.

Lacking the laugh-out-loud wisdom of some of its predecessors, this book certainly is weak in some respects, but brilliant in the author's attempt to analyze and deconstruct the psychological, spiritual, and intellectual evolution of the entire human race and of our interpretation of reality.

Where "Domnei" and other books of the series has a villain, the antagonists are always never completely bad, and usually gain some wisdom or acceptance in the end. But here, Reality itself is the antagonist of this novel.

Though a great book, you will get more out of it if you've read "Figures of Earth," and "The Witch Woman" first. If you want even more back story, read in addition to the two I've mentioned, "The Line of Love," "Gallantry," "The Cords of Vanity," and "The Eagle's Shadow."

An eerie read that sent chills down the spine of its 1920s readers. And this entry remains relevant. Many call this and other works of Cabell to be pessimistic and cyncial about the meaning of life. But a close reading will leave the open-minded reader finding their own relevance in the great Mystery, because once you are hooked into this series, you will be sleepless thinking about the depth of your relationships, the need to live in the moment, and the nature of reality.

[Wreade1872 · Rating 4 out of 5]

Reread:

Continuing my reread of the Biography of Manuel, now in hardcopy.

This was actually my first Cabell and i don't think having since read the rest of the Biography actually changed my views on this much. I have increased my score since my first read but thats just because i have a wider base of reading now.. a more refined palette shall we say. Or more tools with which to tackle Cabells intricate prose.

I dislike this book at least as much as the narrator does our protagonist. I think the issue is that Cabell is a writer of moments, and they often hurt beautifully. However this particualr plot, for me , it just deserves more of a flow than Cabell can give. I think it will always be a frustrating read for me.... but the moments are still beautiful.
Edit: Some translations/notes here
www.librarything.com/topic/373002
www.librarything.com/topic/372846

First Read: [3/5]
A tale of an author who starts dreaming about one of his creations and starts wondering about the nature of reality. Decent enough for the most part, picks up quite a bit towards the end.

[Ann · Rating 4 out of 5]

Not PC in the Academe, but I've always thought the Commedia was written by a dream with the pseudonym Dante...
Cabell considers themes that our Inklings did. And just perhaps informed them as the first publish date was 1917.
Some themes:
Life is a dream poorly understood and expressed. Humankind never gets in direct touch with reality except in the very present moment.
Plato's Cave comes to mind here.
Art, as we in imago dei the Artist wills, is our eternity. All is seen as in a mirror- a mere reflection of truth.
One may live here happily enough to find prizes and applause worth striving for wholeheartedly. But there is that in us which gets no exercise here and struggle blindly with impotent yearning. As such life does not engross us utterly and we dreamers wander at adventure. But life does not content us and we dream of other lands.
You will find in this book dreamer's habitats from Broceliande to the home of Pontius Pilate and every dreamscape between and extending over the ages.
And there is exposed dreamers' pursuits from the occult practices of eons, to the worship of gods, to Christ. Not to spoil the adventure, the protagonist finds his resting place- much as Odysseus did close to 'home'.
Williams' works are full of dreams, as are Tolkien's and CSL's and Barfield too- though the latter would have had himself described as more 'scientific'. And often these fabulous dreams seem to come from the Artist Himself. How else?
The catalyst for Cabell's story is a Beatrice-like creature. Much critical ground is furrowed by Cabell in Dante's dream. And I found myself agreeing with him having never truly understood the bird in the bush bent of that work, however great it is deemed.
So what is reality? How are we to discover it? What do we do with our discoveries about reality? How are we to live?
A truly interesting book, this. CW would have loved it! Does anyone know if any of our Inklings read Cabell? Seems they would have had to, no?
Blessings,
Ann

[Mike P · Rating 5 out of 5]

One of my favorites... a rare gem. Ironic, bittersweet, philosophical, hilarious at times and touching at others; and surprisingly ahead of its time in its existentialist musings and in its structural techniques, I think. Cabell writes beautifully of the human condition.

[The Usual · Rating 3 out of 5]

Ok, on the grounds that the best thing to do with an obscure author is to compare him with an even more obscure one, I think this is Cabell pulling a Peacock. Because that absolutely helps, doesn’t it, and doesn’t put even remotely strange images in the head of someone who’s never heard of either. I’ll try again.

What I think is going on here – bearing in mind that I’m not remotely so well read or intelligent as the late James Branch Cabell and may therefore be wrong – is that Cabell has rounded up a selection of big, heavy ideas that afford him much (sardonic) amusement, and presented them under a tissue-thin veil of light comedy. It isn’t one of his elegant fables by any means. Oh no. Trying to read it as one of those seriously wrong-footed me, especially since, as with all Cabell, I had to hit the ground running.

But it helps to have read some of his other books. I can sort of see the wraithlike forms of those gusting and ghosting about this one, and that, for me, was probably more fun than reading the thing. Which is sort of appropriate under the circumstances.

It was fun, but I’ll have to come back to it after I’ve read more of his books.

[Timothy · Rating 5 out of 5]

A comic romance. A work of meta-fiction — yes, an “experimental” novel. A deep reflection on the nature of life and love. A hoot.

And a work of magical loveliness. Yes, this is a beautifully written fantasy novel.

It is also the revelation of a real-world literary plot — the plot, concocted by the author, his editor Guy Holt, and critic H. L. Mencken, to make of Cabell a bestselling author. In The Cream of the Jest, the essence of the mechanism was put into words. In the author's next novel, Jurgen, the plot moved forward, exactly as specified in The Cream, and Cabell became a bestselling novelist ... for a decade.

An unlikely celebrity, and yet he was lionized; his books, though often wryly risqué, make very poor pornography. His reputation didn’t last. But his books still deserve readers, at least the best do, and this is among his very best. Arguably, it is his best.

[Gabriel · Rating 2 out of 5]

If the rest of this novel had been anything like the first 30 pages, 4 stars, easily.

In those first 30 (or so) pages, Cabell's subject is perfectly matched to his language, perfectly matched to the plot, etc., and the whole is so odd and indefinably off it is like the sword and sorcery novel that Philip K. Dick never wrote.

And then comes the 220 pages that follow. The language is like an American Idol audition, tin ear and cracked high notes. And what is behind that language? Nothing but intensely boring speculations of the "gentlemanly" sort. And it goes on and on and on in this vein until it is finally over.

The conceit is fine-- Cabell might have even managed a very short novella out of it. But this novel is just stuffed to the rafters with empty-headed echoes.

[John · Rating 5 out of 5]

A middle-aged writer dreams in his sleep of a woman, a woman he has never seen when awake. He awakens whenever he touches her, even accidentally. The dreams are set in various times and places. When awake, he wonders about this and writes his best work ever. Is he mad? Is this a glimpse of a world hidden from everyday experience and only momentarily exposed to us? Is the woman the same person as his wife?

[Skallagrimsen]

A genteel meditation on the nature of reality, desire, and dreams. It quickly faded from my memory, like a dream.

[dejah_thoris · Rating 3 out of 5]

I wanted to read something happy, so I found this in Great-Grandmother Lily's collection. (Speaking of which, if you know script and German please drop me a line to translate some writing on the flyleaf.)

Mine is a 1927 copy illustrated by Frank C. Pape with an introduction by Harold Ward. Pape's engravings are simply gorgeous and add a phantom fourth star to the book. The introduction helps put the book in context, but I also recommend reading the long review that describes Cabell's series because on its own this book is weird.

Kennaston, a dull bloke, uses the broken sigil of Scoteia to visit his beloved, Ettare, every night. Touching her breaks the spell though, so his is a courtly love destined never to be consummated. Then he discovers the other half of the sigil in the real world in the strangest place. Reality and fantasy then collide with some unexpected results.

I know that plot sounds a bit shallow, but there's plenty of Kennaston's ruminations surrounding it. Unfortunately, he uses the title phrase at least five times in the book, but the rest of his thoughts make for good reading if you're in a philosophical frame of mind.

[Gregory Ball · Rating 2 out of 5]

Self-referential to the point of being a kind of literary fugue; probably intended as a kind of joke; experimental but as old-fashioned as its age would suggest. Don't read this unless you've read everything else by JBC and want to be complete.

[Alex Sarll]

"No one, I take it, can afford to do without books unless he is quite sure that his own day and personality are the best imaginable; and for this class of persons the most crying need is not, of course, seclusion in a library, but in a sanatorium."

Cabell's Biography Of Manuel is often considered misshapen even by such fans as he retains, yoking the whimsical fantasies of its early days to idiosyncratic literary criticism, short stories pastiching the age of Sheridan, and ultimately this, the sequence's final novel (though in the uniform edition, which I still regret not buying the one time I had chance, two volumes of other odds and ends come after it). In which Felix Kennaston, an early 20th century Virginian author distinctly (and not flatteringly) reminiscent of Cabell, keeps being told that rather than writing whimsical fantasies &c, he should address the topics of the day, real life as it is lived, and other such grim and tedious matters. Which I initially feared might mean Cabell trapping himself into writing an uncharacteristically dull book in order to demonstrate the dullness of such books, but while he does demonstrate a typically exact eye for the inanities of small talk (and, gods help me, I was intrigued that even a century ago the way the seasons were no longer properly distinct was already a mainstay), Kennaston is soon off ping-ponging through history in his dreams, meeting the great (who are invariably preoccupied with something mundane) and the notorious (generally perfectly happy with their day's work). Accompanied always by Ettarre, the eternal feminine, whom he adores but can never touch.

This leads to some musings on the disappointment attending any earthly romance, which at times felt a little beneath the standards of the rest, not even gender essentialist so much as just hack comic. But they are ultimately upended - one of a number of times the title applies. And if the end result of Kennaston's odyssey is to bring him back to some apparently conventional positions by an extremely roundabout route, well, it's the journey that makes all the difference between a platitude and an eternal verity. The back cover quote from Arthur Machen makes perfect sense, given the similarity to one of his tales - but as with Alan Moore and the first True Detective, even if you go in knowing that, you'll probably guess wrongly as to which one.

As much as anything, this is an excuse for Cabell to revisit his earlier works, add in a few more settings even he never got around to, and generally ornament the whole shebang even further before restating his conclusions. I'm sure I was missing plenty, through not having read all that came before, and some of what I did a long time ago; anyone beginning here could well end up wholly baffled. But even they would get, though they might have less reason to care about, the fruits of Cabell's deep, wry and melancholic understanding of the world, of humanity's foibles, and of how ultimately it is only by escaping ourselves in art that we ever seem able reliably to achieve the one thing we can and truly relish our present moment. Living, alas, being the one art in which humanity has never attained mastery.

Appended is The Lineage Of Lichfield, Cabell's genealogy of his characters - a format even his own introduction describes as unreadable, and just to make sure he pulls stunts like leaving one explanatory footnote in the decent obscurity of Provencal. Still, it's worth a skim for sly nuggets like "Richard Brinsley Sheridan, dramatist and mountebank, author of The School For Scandal, the arraignment of Warren Hastings, a vast number of I.O.U.'s, &c". Nor is Sheridan anything like the most famous of Manuel's descendants, who extend here to the 23rd generation. It would be 23, wouldn't it?

[Michael · Rating 3 out of 5]

At the point where the lines defined by H.L. Mencken and Lord Dunsany meet, you will find James Cabell (rhymes with “babble”). It’s a strange set of coordinates, and the two writers eye one another suspiciously as they pass it. Perhaps appropriately, Cabell is largely forgotten today, with the exception of a few fanatic fans who, I suspect, don’t quite “get” how much contradiction and dissonance is implicit in his writing (or maybe that’s what they’re celebrating above all? I don’t like to assume) and scholars of the early twentieth century.
This book is, on the face of it, a story about a man with an active fantasy life who becomes a successful author after he discovers a magic “sigil” inscribed on metal, lying in his garden. Cabell alternates between giving the audience a sense that this man has transcended his ordinariness and snickering at how ordinary he really is. I’ve never seen the word “droll” so many times in a single book, and I think that is how Cabell – or at least part of him – sees the Jest of the title. Speaking again of contradiction and dissonance, it seems to me like the Dunsanian side of him disdains the Menckenian just as much as the reverse is true, and that on some level he hopes that the fantastic will win out over the cynical, even though he can’t bring himself to commit to this.
Or maybe that’s my own wishful thinking. At any rate, for folks interested in the range of early twentieth-century literature, this is an interesting artifact, but one that feels decidedly distant from a modern perspective. Really, I think its main appeal will be to people contented to think themselves antiquarians.

[Derek · Rating 2 out of 5]

I think the consensus is that this should be taken in the context of the rest of Cabell instead of isolation. Unfortunately my reading of Cabell is sporadic and it is difficult to pin up the red string conspiracy corkboard without everything in hand.

You're left with a fourth-wall-breaking start and then a series of vignettes and thought pieces revisiting themes of satisfaction and obtainment thereof, especially as regards how a man chooses between a romantic, idealized, unobtainable version of his life versus cozy satisfaction. And in particular the notion that there may not be the romantic version or that a sparkling inner life may not be remotely visible from the outside, having been crushed by the weight of reality.

In short if you're not really into Cabell you may find yourself falling asleep. It is a subtle piece with subtle ironies--Kennaston may or may not have introductions into some secret society or cult, a call to adventure that he roundly rejects...or maybe not? The sigil of Scoteia may be a misinterpreted commonplace item that significantly sparks the creation of lasting art but that art may not be significant except if it is.

[Jennifer · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is actually the conclusion to the loosely-connected novels by Cabell, so I’m reading them badly out of order. This is an odd book, largely musings about life, love, and fiction wrapped up in a very slight plot, but it’s one of my favorites for its bittersweet tone. As a young person, I believe this book is where I first realized I might not be the only person who felt that sense that surely I was greater than my unprepossessing physical existence—indeed, where I started to realize that it was a pretty universal human condition. I love the way the book plays with the tension between the mundane and the magical, always shifting to reveal that the magical is actually mundane—no, that within the mundane shines the magical—no, that magic is only a self-delusion by the mundane—and so on forever, never quite resolving the tension.

[Lila · Rating 5 out of 5]

Thurber's Walter Mitty had nothing on this guy. This book has been on my reading list since the late 1970s. It is hard to pinpoint what is going on with all the layers of masks, but basically a well-to-do fantasy writer, influenced deeply by medieval romances, pursues his unobtainable love in dreams that he accesses via a broken half of a talisman, one that is connected with the half held by his love. Eventually, we find there is a reasonable explanation for all this, but it doesn't really matter. The fantasy life is still real.

The book is a major influence on modern fantasy.

[Jacob · Rating 4 out of 5]

This book pretends to be a fantasy story for about one chapter, then it reveals itself to be nothing more than an author's fleeting lifelong attempts to grasp love. It's always there in the corner of your eye, but the faster you try to chase it with your gaze, the faster it flees. Dream and reality are woven together throughout the story, as are love and boredom.

[C · Rating 5 out of 5]

Just break my heart next time. Just straight up break my heart.

[Sverre · Rating 1 out of 5]

Just as a good cup of coffee should have a good aroma, a good fantasy novel should have a good fantasy motif. But I found this novel’s motif to be too incongruous to support a pretension of fantasy. The only elements of fantasy are to be found in time-traveling dreams in which the main character meets the woman of his romantic reveries in various settings associated with famous people in historical settings. Those enigmatic episodes could have been fleshed out and lengthened to provide credence to a fantasy motif. But they were not. Instead this novel is a pastiche of critiques about social customs and beliefs, about power and politics, about religion and philosophy, and perhaps about the futility of reaching a meaningful conclusion in the pursuit of happiness. It seems farcically cynical. It highlights an author’s grandiose assumption to literary greatness. Cabell had a great reputation for literary creativity in the fantasy genre. If so, this book is an anomaly and not representative of his better works.

[Micah · Rating 1 out of 5]

The first couple chapters were uniquely promising. Then everything got really slow. Then the protagonist found an interesting piece of magic, and used it to make thousands of boring and superficial observations about humanity and the nature of the universe. This fantasy novel is a Trojan horse for a lot of really simplistic philosophizing. Hate to abandon any text at 65% read, but I couldn't manage it any longer.

[Avis Black · Rating 1 out of 5]

I went through a period of trying Cabell's books, Jurgen, etc., but never found them very good.