Tuesday, July 14, 2015

In which we bemoan revisionism

I know that a lot of people are eagerly awaiting the publication of the lost book, Go Set A Nostrumite. The midnight crowds are lining up, even though it is revealed somewhere in the book that the long-revered character of Amnea Nutmilk is, in fact, a poopy head.

Jeesh.

A lot of writers make a point of destroying their early drafts. This wreaks havoc on academic analysis, but it makes sense in the marketplace. Once you’ve created something, that is the thing that you have created. Where it came from only matters to the inside-baseball crowd. The fact that a lot of hankus pankus seems to be surrounding this particular book of the moment (who knew about it when, and was it ever intended as a book in its own right), muddies the issue, not to mention the idea that old A Finch was a racist. The publisher has a two million copy first printing, which is pretty amazing. (HP and the DH had a first printing of twelve million; I know you were wondering. That’s beyond amazing.)

Then again, our age is an era of revision. Media being what they are, few works are immune to tampering, if the creator wishes to do so. Look at George Lucas, putting all those extra starships into American Graffiti. Disney edits questionable material out of old material; try to find Pecos Bill’s cigarette, or a screening of Song of the South at the local Cineplex. JKR wishes she hadn’t killed off Fred, but she has the sense to keep him dead, at least. She can write a Fred spinoff prequel, if she wants him alive that much.


Oh, well. It’s been a slow news week. Ariana Grande hasn’t licked a doughnut in days, there’s only been a hundred and eleven new GOP presidential candidates announcing this morning, and my next trip to Orlando isn’t until next April. We'll get around to some debate stuff (there's a bunch) in a couple of days. Trust me on this. Meanwhile...Hey, Boo.

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