5 Reasons Why It's Wrong to Edit the "N" Word out of Huckleberry Finn

1. The job of an editor is not to change a writer’s style, message, or intent; his job is, traditionally, to work with the writer in making the work more clear, more effective, or more smooth stylistically—or perhaps to fit space constraints. Changing “n” to “slave” in Huckleberry Finn does none of these, and, in fact, it does the earlier-mentioned: it changes the style and the message by attempting to dilute it. Writers and editors often disagree, but that discourse is often what makes the work better, ultimately. Obviously, it’s a hundred or so years too late to do such a thing with Mark Twain. There is no chance for Twain in this case to agree, disagree, or even acquiesce grudgingly. A writer has a right to let his style help define his work—it is, after all, HIS work. Changing this word does not make Twain’s work better. It’s wrong to play Big Brother a century after the fact, and it’s disrespectful.
2. I hate the “n” word. I can’t even bring myself to say it—or even write it out: it is a vile and loaded expression. It marks an ugly stain on the history of America. In fact, I’d venture to say that it’s such a terrible word that at this point in history, it’s probably the single most offensive word in the entire English language. It might be interesting to some day chart the evolution of the word from its beginnings to what it is and what it means now; but I digress. Like it or not, that word is part of our country’s history, and part of the narrative of Huck Finn’s time. It is, simply, what it is. Furthermore, the proposed replacement word, “slave,” is not at all synonymous with the “n” word. Not at all. Ultimately, though, the point I’m getting at here is that editing offensive words out of Huckleberry Finn is no more justified than the notion of editing the offensive anti-Semitism out of Shakespeare’s Merchant of Venice. Should that be done, too? By that logic, editors may as well start with Euripides and work forward from there to edit out the proliferation of misogyny that exists through the centuries. Oh—and what about the excessive profanity, racism, AND misogyny that is smeared like goo all over Ken Kesey’s One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest? (After all, that book is taught in schools!) Shall I go on? Where does it stop?
3. If the editors of NewSouth Publishers edit the offensive material out of Huckleberry Finn, it is tantamount to attempting to re-write history, to water down or even ignore this country’s past. It almost hearkens back to the dystopian world of George Orwell’s 1984: how shall we remember the past to suit us? Racism existed (and still does); it cannot be blotted out by removing offensive words and pretending they weren’t there. And, no, this isn’t political correctness. It’s censorship. Plain and simple.
4. Those who would argue that there is nothing wrong with this editing would point out that the Mark Twain scholar’s (and thus the publisher’s) purpose in removing that nasty word from such a great, historical work of fiction is only to update the text for the 21^st century. Did I mention that “n” and “slave” are not the same thing at all? They’re not. These people would also point out that by re-writing this text, they will keep it in the schools, thus “pre-empting” the censorship that already exists—schools are already banning the book, they would say. So, I ask: is censorship the solution to censorship? Now it’s starting to feel a little Ray Bradbury-ish. Most importantly here, though, these short-sighted people are missing out on the real opportunity that is staring them in the face. Since slavery, racism, and oppression are an indelible part of America’s history, this book is an excellent vehicle for opening that dialogue, for challenging the student to think, to consider, to understand. And by understanding, we can all move forward.
5. So there it is. Face it, America, there is racism in your past. Mark Twain wrote it right into his book: deal with it straight up. Don’t sugar-coat it and don’t ignore it. And go bleep yourself, NewSouth.

blogalicious

It’s been a thousand years since I've been in school. And what an experience last semester! Eventually, I finally managed to buy all my books and settle into the routine. Wow. The price of school has sure gone up since I did this 20 years ago!

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Word of the Day

daedal \DEE-duhl\, adj: 1. Complex or ingenious in form or function; intricate 2. Skillful; artistic; ingenious 3. Rich; adorned w many things

The Help

by Kathryn Stockett

We're off to see the movie version of The Help tonight. I'm rather curious to see it at this point, as I read the book last year and thought it was really quite  good, though though I'm amazed at all the hullabaloo it seems to be garnering. I mean, Olive Kitteridge is still my favorite book for last year. (I do notice that I gave it five stars right after I finished it, though.) Is it all just slick marketing that's causing the attention? The "money-people" who see an opportunity to cash in on an eternally sensational subject -- racism and the tyranny of the South pre-civil rights? I'm surprised, honestly, at the (some of it extremely) rave reviews the movie version has gotten in the LA Times and NY Times. 

***

Okay, I'm back Wow! The movie was excellent! Wonderful acting. More on this later. Go see it.

Miles in the Woods

Word of the Day

orotund \OR-uh-tuhnd\, adjective:
1. Characterized by fullness, clarity, strength, and smoothness of sound. 2. Pompous; bombastic.

Miles in the Woods

Halfway through their third bottle of Blue Nun, Odie and James became increasingly orotund. The object of their superciliousness, Miles, sat indignantly on the rotted stump of the old pine tree as the pair shared lusty swigs off the amber bottle and belched sweet wine. The old boys bellowed on about his seeming inability to seduce the luscious Reba Mae, increasingly pleased with themselves as they alternately guffawed and passed gas. Between his curly red hair and pasty goateed face and his gangly six-foot frame and size thirteen wing-tips, it was unclear exactly which part of him was least disagreeable, the boys howled, and their voices carried all the way to the next campground where the girls sat in a huddle, demurely swatting horseflies and quaffing their sloe gin fizzes. Finally, exasperated, Miles stood up and stiffly walked across the wooded lot, past the Happy Camper trailhead that demarcated the injuns’ side from the squaws’ side, to where the ample-breasted Reba reclined coyly, cross-legged in her aluminum folding chair. The girls giggled shrilly and one of them, maybe Angela Rose but he couldn’t tell for sure, flat out snorted. Frozen in fear, Miles inelegantly found himself unable to remove his gape from the woman’s bursting cleavage. He watched, spellbound, as her garishly red lips parted slowly in a wide grin, revealing too many teeth and a big gap in the shape of an upside-down V between the two front ones. He jammed his hands deeper into the pockets of his khaki chinos, opening his mouth in a faltering stutter. And that was it. That was how they came to be Mister and Missus Miles Swindish some forty-odd years and seven children ago Reba Mae thought absent-mindedly, as she adjusted the strap of her Wonderbra and lifted the swizzle stick out of her twenty-ounce Dixie cup, upending it with a swift, well-practiced motion.

Jelly-Belly

There once was a young lass named Shelly
who couldn't stop filling her belly~
From lemon merengue
to sugar-free Tang~
but NEVER unsweetened toe-jelly.

By ME, Michele Beller