Rediscovering Classic Literature

Treasure Island

The memory databanks of my iPod Touch are usually stuffed with music, apps, and Harry Potter books. Yep, Harry Potter. I can state without reservation that my all time favorite audiobooks are the first four Harry Potter books as read by Jim Dale. Those readings will (hopefully) forever transport my mind into a wonderful place and time. They just make me “feel” a certain way that feels good… a “signature feeling” as I like to call it.

But back to the point of this post. I had listened to each of the first 4 Harry Potter books at least 3 or 4 times each, when I started looking for something new. Turns out something new is really something old. I loaded up Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson, and I was blown away. After the world of Harry Potter, the real-life Victorian era brings me a similarly good feeling. I love it. The writing within Treasure Island is the best, and most compatible with my mind, that I have ever heard.

I was drinking in his words and smiling away, as conceited as a cock upon a wall, when, all in a breath, back went his right hand over his shoulder. Something sang like an arrow through the air; I felt a blow and then a sharp pang, and there I was pinned by the shoulder to the mast. In the horrid pain and surprise of the moment–I scarce can say it was by my own volition, and I am sure it was without a conscious aim– both my pistols went off, and both escaped out of my hands. They did not fall alone; with a choked cry, the coxswain loosed his grasp upon the shrouds and plunged head first into the water.

“They did not fall alone”.  That blows me away.

After listening to Treasure Island twice, I downloaded the public domain version on Kindle and now carry it with me everywhere. I’ve read the Kindle edition through at least once, and now skip around to favorite places where the language is especially evocative.

Marley's Ghost

My iPod Touch is currently “in the shop” in California, where it was UPS’d at Apple’s request after I mentioned to them that the battery wasn’t properly holding a charge. I haven’t yet received it back. In the mean time I had tried listening to the radio during my commute and was quickly reintroduced to the sludge and poison that it produces. Radio is absolutely horrid.

In desperation, I dug through my electronics drawer and pulled out the White Behemoth, my 4th generation iPod. The battery was virtually dead so I plugged it in and came back the next day. Clicking and scrolling through the woeful display brought me to a long-loaded collection of audiobooks. Hmmm… “A Christmas Carol” by Charles Dickens. Victorian! Didn’t realize I even had that recording. So I started listening. It is read by… Jim Dale! Fantastic.

I’m sorry to admit that this is the first time I’ve been exposed to Christmas Carol outside of movies and live productions. As you might expect, the book is fantastic and full of additional detail. I have discovered gems that simply blew me away. This was the first:

The fog came pouring in at every chink and keyhole, and was so dense without, that, although the court was of the narrowest, the houses opposite were merely phantoms.

Is it possible to be more efficient with the English language?  There is so much detail packed into this single sentence.  Your mind fills in all the visual details begged by this simple snippet.

And things exist within the book that could not be recreated in movies and plays without a disembodied narrator.  Such as this brilliant chill-inducing segment that injects Dickens directly into the story with you:

The curtains of his bed were drawn aside; and Scrooge, starting up into a half-recumbent attitude, found himself face to face with the unearthly visitor who drew them: as close to it as I am now to you, and I am standing in the spirit at your elbow.

I looked around when I heard this.  Cheers to you Mr. Dickens.  I had been played perfectly by a 166 year-old joke.  Anyone who doesn’t actually read the book (or listen to the audiobook) will forever miss the pleasure of this jest.