Humour and literature

[Eric]

Humour is unlikely to have died a couple of years ago, Threetrees. But people perhaps don't think about it so much. They mumble the name of "Woody Allen" as a kind of talisman and go into a brown study, out of which they never come.

As someone in touch with various different nations, I notice that whether we're talking about TV sitcoms or Stephen Potter, stand-up comedians or books of humorous anecdotes, tastes vary a lot, even within that small continent, Europe.

I feel that, for instance, Germans, Dutch people, and Scandinavians are more attuned to lavatory humour while, for instance, the Poles have a more developed sense of the absurd. Even in Britain, there was a huge sea change when the Monty Python team came along. Before that, British humour was very much more Morecambe and Wise and working men's clubs' stand-up comedians. And Benny Hill's bum-slapping hilarity (which goes down well in the Germanic countries I've just listed).

I personally don't read many books of undiluted humour, finding humour within serious novels more interesting, maybe as a counterpoint or foil to the rest of the story (as, indeed, in Shakespeare).

[Threetrees]

I feel the same, Eric. It's good that we see eye to eye (and not tooth for tooth) at least in the matters of humour (and probably in some other fields there can be found a multitude of common ideas). I prefer to be both with eyes and teeth. (Sorry, I try to be jocular as usual)

[Threetrees]

As an intersection in the thread I'd like to recollect Walter Hines Page whose sense of humour and earnestness came hand in hand. He was an American journalist, publisher, and diplomat. Walter H. Page was the United States ambassador to the United Kingdom during World War I. Page believed that a free and open education was fundamental to democracy. He felt that nothing — class, economic means, race, religion — should be a barrier to education. But with this serious approach to life and education there are the things that highly praise him as a jollier.

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The English newspapers took delight in printing Page's aphorisms, and several anecdotes that came from America afforded them especial joy. One went back to the days when the Ambassador was editor of the Atlantic Monthly. A woman contributor had sent him a story; like most literary novices she believed that editors usually rejected the manuscripts of unknown writers without reading them. She therefore set a trap for Page by pasting together certain sheets. The manuscript came back promptly, and, as the prospective contributor had hoped, these sheets had not been disturbed. These particular sections had certainly not been read. The angry author triumphantly wrote to Page, explaining how she had caught him and denouncing the whole editorial tribe as humbugs. " Dear Madam," Page immediately wrote in reply, "when I break an egg at breakfast, I do not have to eat the whole of it to find out that it is bad." Page's treatment of authors, however, was by no means so acrimonious as this little note might imply. Indeed, the urbanity and consideration shown in his correspondence with writers had long been a tradition in American letters. The remark of O. Henry in this regard promises to become immortal: "Page could reject a story with a letter that was so complimentary," he said, " and make everybody feel so happy that you could take it to a bank and borrow money on it."

Another anecdote reminiscent of his editorial days was his retort to S. S. McClure, the editor of McClure's Magazine.

"Page," said Mr. McClure, "there are only three great editors in the United States."

"Who's the third one, Sam? " asked Page.

Plenty of stories, illustrating Page's quickness and aptness in retort, have gathered about his name in England. Many of them indicate a mere spirit of boyish fun. Early in his Ambassadorship he was spending a few days at Stratford-on-Avon, his hostess being an American woman who had beautifully restored an Elizabethan house; the garden contained a mulberry tree which she liked to think had been planted by Shakespeare himself. The dignitaries of Stratford, learning that the American Ambassador had reached town, asked permission to wait upon him; the Lord Mayor, who headed the procession, made an excellent speech, to which Page appropriately replied, and several hundred people were solemnly presented. After the party had left Page turned to his hostess:

"Have they all gone "

"Yes."

" All? "

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Then let's take hands and dance around the mulberry tree!"

Page was as good as his word; he danced as gaily as the youngest member of the party, to the singing of the old English song.

The great service in St. Paul's Cathedral, in commemoration of America's entry into the war, has already been described. A number of wounded Americans, boys whose zeal for the Allies had led them to enlist in the Canadian Army, were conspicuous participants in this celebration. After the solemn religious ceremonies, the Ambassador and these young men betook themselves for lunch to a well-known London restaurant. In an interval of the conversation one of the Americans turned to Page.

"Mr. Ambassador, there was just one thing wrong with that service."

"What was that?"

"We wanted to yell, and we couldn't."

"Then why don't you yell now? "

The boy jumped on a chair and began waving his napkin. "The Ambassador says we may yell," he cried. "Let's yell! "

"And so," said Page, telling the story, "they yelled for five minutes and I yelled with them. We all felt better in. consequence."

This geniality, this disposition not to take life too solemnly, sometimes lightened up the sombre atmosphere of the Foreign Office itself. "Mr. Balfour went on a sort of mild rampage yesterday," Page records. "The British and American navies had come to an arrangement whereby the Brazilian ships that are coming over to help us fight should join the American unit, not the British, as was at first proposed. Washington telegraphed me that the British Minister at Rio was blocking the game by standing out for the first British idea---that the Brazilian ships should join the British. It turned out in the conversation that the British Minister had not been informed of the British-American naval arrangement. Mr. Balfour sent for Lord Hardinge. He called in one of the private secretaries. Was such a thing ever heard of?

"'Did you ever know,' said the indignant Mr. Balfour, turning to me, 'of such a thing as a minister not even being informed of his Government's decisions?' 'Yes,' I said, 'if I ransack my memory diligently, I think I could find such cases.' The meeting went into laughter!"

from THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF WALTER H. PAGE
BY BURTON J. HENDRICK
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[lenz]

Please, if you are going to discuss humour in literature, stick to the topic.

[Threetrees]

The guy wakes up one morning to find a gorilla in his tree. He looks in the phone book for a gorilla removal service until he finds one.
"Is it a boy or girl Gorilla?" the service guy asks.
"Boy," is the man's response.
"Oh yeah, I can do it. I'll be right there", says the service guy.
An hour later the service guy shows up with a stick, a Chihuahua, a shotgun, and a pair of handcuffs. He then gives the man some instructions: "Now, I'm going to climb this tree and poke the gorilla with the stick until he falls. When he does, the trained Chihuahua will bite the gorilla's testicles off. The gorilla will then cross his hands to protect himself and allow you to put the handcuffs on him."
The man asks, "What do I do with the shotgun?"
The service guy replies, "If I fall out of the tree before the gorilla, shoot the Chihuahua."

[pigeonweather]

People's ideas of what's funny are so varied. I once had an argument with someone who'd just finished writing their Master's Thesis on the 'tragedy' of Kafka's 'The Castle', whereas I thought the book was hysterical. Along the same line, I recently re-read 'The Metamorphosis' and was struck by the part where, despite having just woken up transformed into a giant insect, he is certain he can still catch the seven o'clock train, or, at worst, the eight o'clock. In Kafka's case, humor is like a dagger pointed straight at the heart of our common absurdity.

[Threetrees]

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Are there control authorities? There are nothing but control authorities. Of course, their purpose is not to uncover errors in the ordinary meaning of the word, since errors do not occur and even when an error does in fact occur, as in your case, who can say conclusively that it is an error?

from 'The Castle' by Franz Kafka
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Very good, Tom, that you've fetched Kafka. Here, in forum, we have the same, don't we? Kafka's mini-castle? Members control members. Members give their conclusions. Anarchy of views. Who can say conclusively that it is an error or a humour? TTT

[Heteronym]

Having read The Castle weeks ago, I still remember the humor in the novel with vivid pleasure. It's a strange sort of humor. There shouldn't be anything to laugh about K's condition of being knocked around, from person to person, always receiving inconclusive answers. I think it's a humor of paradoxes, when you're confronted with something that doesn't have a logical way out, I think you can only laugh.

[Threetrees]

Everything, as it turns out, has its scientific explanation. When I've read this article (link below) I immediately realized we can be ill when we laugh or don't do it at all. I don't know but my primary need is to laugh. I even laughed when I was scanning this The Journal of Neuropsychiatry and Clinical Neurosciences. Am I insane?*
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http://neuro.psychiatryonline.org/ar...ticleid=100246

For more than two decades, this patient could not keep from laughing even when he did not detect humor. His examination disclosed memory impairment, frontal-executive dysfunction, and a gait disorder with lower extremity pathological reflexes, consistent with his bifrontal encephalomalacia and hydrocephalus. His involuntary laughter was secondary to pseudobulbar palsy and may have been facilitated by disinhibition of the anterior cingulate gyrus.

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[pigeonweather]

we can be ill when we laugh

Reminds me of Italo Svevo's "Confessions of Zeno", the scene where the father calls the family into his study to reveal the secret of life, and it turns out to have been a brain tumor instead.

[Threetrees]

Hi, Tom. Started to read your stories. They are incredibly hilarious. )

[pigeonweather]

Started to read your stories

thanks! that's very kind of you to say

[Eric]

I agree with those of you that think that think that "The Castle" is essentially a humorous book.

I find some of the postings here a trifle distracting.

[Threetrees]

What is the best place to punch a shark?

A friend of mine (may I call her like that) told me she didn't want to punch it. She said it would
have been better not to be on its (shark's) way. So,
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- What if it wants to punch me?
- Shark doesn't know "to want" or "not to want". There's only instinct.
- I have also instinct - to protect myself.
- Try to avoid the shark.
- Do you think I can manage?
- Smile at it.
- I can smile but I suspect its (shark's) smile of another kind and it is not a kind one.
- Then punch it if you like.
- Where to?
- In the nose.
- Do you think I can manage?
- I know you can. Make your try in the eye then.
- Shark could then have a bruise. Green Peace will fine me.
- What is better then to be fined or to be eaten?
- Ok. I think we'll have the shark for the supper. Call me later.
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The people also discuss it. Join.

[Threetrees]

Mothers-in-law, hen-pecked husbands and bad cheese nowadays

Max Beerbohm (who is in the catalogue of my favourites) recounted once (early 20th century) the subjects of merriments of the public. How much had they altered since then?

...the entertainment consists almost entirely of variations on certain ever-recurring themes. I have been at pains to draw up a list of these themes. I think it is exhaustive. If any fellow-student detect an omission, let him communicate with me. Meanwhile, here is my list:

Mothers-in-law
Hen-pecked husbands
Twins
Old maids
Jews
Frenchmen, Germans, Italians, Niggers (not Russians, or other foreigners of any denomination)
Fatness
Thinness
Long hair (worn by a man)
Baldness
Sea-sickness
Stuttering
Bad cheese
'Shooting the moon' (slang expression for leaving a lodging-house without paying the bill).

The days I have read a someone's comment: funny thing is, my feet smell exactly like parmesan.