I often find myself comparing Lewis to Theodore Dreiser, mostly
because I once heard that both were considered for the Nobel Prize,
but Lewis prevailed. Dreiser has always been one of my favorite
writers, and I defend him whenever anyone mutters something snarky
about the "quality of his prose" or the "plainness"
of his ideas. After all, while he may not have been the most
accomplished stylist, Dreiser wrote with a deep sympathy and
curiosity, producing works of fiction in an effort to understand
people and promote tolerance. Lewis I know much less about (having
not yet read any biographies of him, and only three of his novels so
far), but I see him at times as Dreiser's polar opposite, interested
in exposing, rather than understanding, the people around him.
At other times, though, I come across paragraphs in Lewis's books of such lyrical expressiveness that I forget my previous belief in his coldness and detachment. Main Street I read many years ago, so I don't remember any particulars; Arrowsmith had its sparks here and there; but Babbitt, despite its unevenness and patchwork quality, deserves its place as Lewis's best-known novel and one of the greatest of the 20th century.
The
Babbitt
narrative (roughly) resembles a bell curve- beginning with George F.
Babbitt's enjoyment of his status as a Good, Upstanding,
Right-Thinking, Right-Dealing Fella; peaking during his period of
existential doubt and questioning; and ending back where he started,
albeit with a touch more sensibility and self-analysis. In Babbitt,
Lewis created a character who accepted all of the platitudes and
cliches of the conservative 1920s businessman in small-town America,
intent on "boosterism," patriotism, and capitalism, come
hell or high water.
And
then, of course, Lewis introduced the element of doubt and started
the ball rolling, until Babbitt started questioning everything in his
life in an effort to understand why he was unhappy. Ultimately, he
realizes that everyone, himself included, has been trying to play a
specific role for which they never quite learned the lines. Babbitt's
wife and children say the "usual things," his business
associates are all mostly
honest but always trying to one-up one another, and any straying from
the status quo is seen by the town as an affront. Only Babbitt's
friend Paul refuses to blend in to Zenith life, and it's Paul, with
his silences and thoughtfulness and ultimate nervous breakdown, who
prompts Babbitt to recoil at the hollowness of his own life.
Babbitt's
subsequent bingeing and partying might look like a so-called mid-life
crisis, but it ultimately reveals the futility of being anyone other
than George F. Babbitt. He can either be successful and agreeable, or
shut-out and shunned. His fantasies of roaming the wilderness and
fending for himself are unrealistic at best, but when he returns to
playing the role that others expect of him, Babbitt retains a modicum
of disillusionment. And it is that
that allows him to finally tell his son to be whatever he wishes to
be: mechanic, lawyer, businessman, or anything else. It's this
understanding of life as a role or series of roles that finally
brings Babbitt some peace.
So
while you go read Babbitt
(if you haven't already), I'll start reading a Lewis biography!
Frankly, I was hard-pressed to see any improvement in Babbitt's stupidity. His very dull affair ended when his wife got appendicitis and he got remorseful (I read this a long time ago). In the end he seemed to be the laugh-it-off, optimistic, don't-think-too-much-about-it Booster he was at the start. The final scene showed him encouraging his spawn to follow his bliss.
ReplyDeleteWell la-de-da!
I see what you mean, but I did get the sense that Babbitt gained at least a little bit of self-awareness after his wild spree...
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