By DANIEL JOHNSON
What is the greatest and most
universally loved book ever written in Ireland — wilder than Wilde,
more shocking than Shaw, more experimental than Joyce, more disillusioned than
Beckett, more humane than Heaney?
The book is, of
course, Gulliver's
Travels. Its author wrote his own Latin epitaph, best
translated by another Anglo-Irishman, Yeats: "Swift has sailed into his
rest;/Savage indignation there/ Cannot lacerate his breast." Jonathan
Swift's indignation against the follies of mankind was indeed so extreme that
he has been savaged himself ever since, by critics who have seen his works as
misanthropic and misogynist, the revenge of an embittered man thwarted in his
poetical, political and ecclesiastical ambitions. Swift was so scandalous on
every level — from the gruesome irony of A Modest Proposal to the scatological reductio ad absurdum of all that polite society held dear
in The Lady's Dressing Room — that
his exile from literary London to the Deanery of St Patrick's, Dublin, has been
posthumously extended: hence his present neglect in our schools and
universities. David Womersley's definitive new edition of Gulliver's Travels, the latest of 18
volumes of Swift's works published by Cambridge University Press, is thus a
major step towards his academic rehabilitation and even vindication.
Yet not only
the English-speaking peoples, but the whole civilised world has embraced Gulliver's Travels since its first publication in 1726.
The fact that many who have not read it wrongly suppose it to be a children's
book, and that children do indeed enjoy at any rate the first two parts,
reveals its author's genius. Adapted and bowdlerised more than almost any other
literary classic,Gulliver has
survived and, though countless modern writers, whether of magical realism or
teenage fantasy fiction, owe Swift an unconscious debt, the original still
surpasses all imitations.
Why, then, have
critics declined to follow Captain Lemuel Gulliver on his adventures in
Lilliput and Brobdingnag? Samuel Johnson set the tone with his mean-spirited Life of Swift and his disparaging comment to
Boswell: "When once you have thought of big men and little men, it is very
easy to do all the rest." Yet the young Johnson had not disdained to
entitle his satirical parliamentary sketches for the Gentleman's Magazine of 1738-44 "State of Affairs in
Lilliput", thus demonstrating that within 20 years of its appearanceGulliver's
Travels was required
reading. On their tour of the Hebrides, Boswell recorded Johnson's conversation
with a "sensible clever woman", Lady MacLeod, who asked if no man was
naturally good. "No, madam, no more than a wolf," he replied.
"Nor no woman, sir?" Boswell interpolated. "No, sir." Lady
Mac-Leod: "This is worse than Swift." Her startled aside is
revealing, both of Swift's reputation and of his influence on Johnson.
And so it has
been ever since. The great Whig critics, such as Jeffrey and Macaulay, were
repelled by Swift's love of the morbid, the bawdy and the grotesque and by a
cultural pessimism they saw as reactionary. Later critics were similarly harsh,
with the partial exception of George Orwell. In his essay of 1946, Orwell
denounces "a world-view which only just passes the test of sanity",
yet also declares: "If I had to make a list of six books which were to be
preserved when all others were destroyed, I would certainly put Gulliver's Travels among them." He treats Swift
primarily as a polemicist, and his satire as merely a tool of his political
ideology ("Tory anarchism"), but this is surely the wrong way round.
Swift, like Orwell, changed his mind about politics; this did not diminish the
quality of their writing. Indeed, the author of Animal Farmand Nineteen Eighty-Four would be inconceivable without Gulliver's Travels.
Why has Gulliver's Travels such a universal appeal? The supposed
author is a ship's surgeon, not a savant writing for the savvy. Along with the
usual apparatus, Womersley's edition includes "long notes" which are
really short essays on aspects of the book. One of these quotes his publisher,
George Faulkner, on Swift's practice of having read aloud his works with two
servants present, "which, if they did not comprehend, he would alter and
amend until they understood it perfectly well, and then would say, This will do; for I write to the Vulgar, more than
to the Learned." How many other writers take such pains to
make themselves clear?
A charge made
against Gulliver is that it is a clever persiflage of Queen Anne's day, but
limited to its own time and place. Swift replied to one such critic, his French
translator the Abbé Desfontaines, that "an author who writes for only one
town, one province, one kingdom, or one age is completely despicable. But those
who admire Mr Gulliver say, on the contrary, that his writings will last as
long as our language, because they are not based on certain fashions and ways
of speaking and thinking, but on faults and follies which are fixed in human
nature." The Dean spoke more
truly than the Abbé.
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