Excerpts jotted down in a feverish frenzy of enthusiasm upon a reading of G.K. Chesterton’s “The Man Who Was Thursday”
On first perusing the precis of the novel, one gets the impression that TMWWT is another detective story by the creator of the inimitable Father Brown. It purports to deal with a man, a Scotland Yard Detective, who infiltrates the Supreme Council of Anarchists, a group of men solely bent upon serving Anarchy to the world on a platter. The Supreme Council consists of seven men, who for reasons of secrecy name themselves after days of the week, Sunday to Saturday. Our detective gets into this council also, and becomes Thursday. Thus the title, for we follow the actions of Thursday as he tries to prevent the world from dissolving into chaos and anarchy, and presumably, to find out who is Sunday.The book, however, is vastly different. In the immense enthusiasm of Chesterton’s narrative style, the story takes on the nature of satire, farce and comedy all at one. As GKC himself wrote of TMWWT in an article:
“It was a very melodramatic sort of moonshine, but it had a kind of notion in it; and the point is that it described first a band of the last champions of order fighting against what appeared to be a world of anarchy and then the discovery that the mysterious master of…the anarchy…was a sort of elemental elf…who appeared to be rather too like a pantomime ogre. This led many to infer that this equivocal being was meant for the description of the Deity…
But this error was entirely due to the fact that they had read the book…not the sub-title. The book was called The Man Who Was Thursday: A Nightmare…”
Somewhere down the line, you wonder, is the world already in Anarchy? Are we all anarchists? The language only tends to get better as the novel progresses. And the speeches towards the end are pure poetry.
Samples:
“I see everything,” he cried, “everything that there is. Why does each thing on the earth war against each other thing? Why does each small thing in the world have to fight against the world itself? Why does a fly have to fight the whole universe? Why does a dandelion have to fight the whole universe? For the same reason that I had to be alone in the dreadful Council of the Days. So that each thing that obeys law may have the glory and isolation of the anarchist. So that each man fighting for order may be as brave and good a man as the dynamiter. So that the real lie of Satan may be flung back in the face of this blasphemer, so that by tears and torture we may earn the right to say to this man, ‘You lie!’ No agonies can be too great to buy the right to say to this accuser, ‘We also have suffered.’
“When I first saw Sunday,” said Syme slowly, “I only saw his back; and when I saw his back, I knew he was the worst man in the world. His neck and shoulders were brutal, like those of some apish god. His head had a stoop that was hardly human, like the stoop of an ox. In fact, I had at once the revolting fancy that this was not a man at all, but a beast dressed up in men’s clothes.
“Then, I entered the hotel, and coming round the other side of him, saw his face in the sunlight. His face frightened me, as it did everyone; but not because it was brutal, not because it was evil. On the contrary, it frightened me because it was so beautiful, because it was so good.
“It was like the face of some ancient archangel, judging justly after heroic wars. There was laughter in the eyes, and in the mouth honour and sorrow. There was the same white hair, the same great, grey-clad shoulders that I had seen from behind. But when I saw him from behind I was certain he was an animal, and when I saw him in front I knew he was a god.”
“Pan,” said the Professor dreamily, “was a god and an animal.”
“Then, and again and always,” went on Syme like a man talking to himself, “that has been for me the mystery of Sunday, and it is also the mystery of the world. When I see the horrible back, I am sure the noble face is but a mask. When I see the face but for an instant, I know the back is only a jest. Bad is so bad, that we cannot but think good an accident; good is so good, that we feel certain that evil could be explained.”
“Listen to me! Shall I tell you the secret of the whole world? It is that we have only known the back of the world. We see everything from behind, and it looks brutal. That is not a tree, but the back of a tree. That is not a cloud, but the back of a cloud. Cannot you see that everything is stooping and hiding a face? If we could only get round in front—”
There. My appetite has been sated. Now it is only left for you to source a copy of the book, if you do so choose, and read it.
Thank you.
K.
But this error was entirely due to the fact that they had read the book…not the sub-title. The book was called The Man Who Was Thursday: A Nightmare…”
Somewhere down the line, you wonder, is the world already in Anarchy? Are we all anarchists? The language only tends to get better as the novel progresses. And the speeches towards the end are pure poetry.
Samples:
“I see everything,” he cried, “everything that there is. Why does each thing on the earth war against each other thing? Why does each small thing in the world have to fight against the world itself? Why does a fly have to fight the whole universe? Why does a dandelion have to fight the whole universe? For the same reason that I had to be alone in the dreadful Council of the Days. So that each thing that obeys law may have the glory and isolation of the anarchist. So that each man fighting for order may be as brave and good a man as the dynamiter. So that the real lie of Satan may be flung back in the face of this blasphemer, so that by tears and torture we may earn the right to say to this man, ‘You lie!’ No agonies can be too great to buy the right to say to this accuser, ‘We also have suffered.’
“When I first saw Sunday,” said Syme slowly, “I only saw his back; and when I saw his back, I knew he was the worst man in the world. His neck and shoulders were brutal, like those of some apish god. His head had a stoop that was hardly human, like the stoop of an ox. In fact, I had at once the revolting fancy that this was not a man at all, but a beast dressed up in men’s clothes.
“Then, I entered the hotel, and coming round the other side of him, saw his face in the sunlight. His face frightened me, as it did everyone; but not because it was brutal, not because it was evil. On the contrary, it frightened me because it was so beautiful, because it was so good.
“It was like the face of some ancient archangel, judging justly after heroic wars. There was laughter in the eyes, and in the mouth honour and sorrow. There was the same white hair, the same great, grey-clad shoulders that I had seen from behind. But when I saw him from behind I was certain he was an animal, and when I saw him in front I knew he was a god.”
“Pan,” said the Professor dreamily, “was a god and an animal.”
“Then, and again and always,” went on Syme like a man talking to himself, “that has been for me the mystery of Sunday, and it is also the mystery of the world. When I see the horrible back, I am sure the noble face is but a mask. When I see the face but for an instant, I know the back is only a jest. Bad is so bad, that we cannot but think good an accident; good is so good, that we feel certain that evil could be explained.”
“Listen to me! Shall I tell you the secret of the whole world? It is that we have only known the back of the world. We see everything from behind, and it looks brutal. That is not a tree, but the back of a tree. That is not a cloud, but the back of a cloud. Cannot you see that everything is stooping and hiding a face? If we could only get round in front—”
There. My appetite has been sated. Now it is only left for you to source a copy of the book, if you do so choose, and read it.
Thank you.
K.
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3 comments:
Yappa! Sounds very, very cool! And I particularly liked the phrase, "elemental elf," for not-very-clear-yet reasons. The story of "V for vendetta" seems a bit inspired by this book as well, apart from '1984.'
“Pan,” said the Professor dreamily, “was a god and an animal.”
And this reminds me of a Kamal Haasan film. He he...
"Bad is so bad, that we cannot but think good an accident; good is so good, that we feel certain that evil could be explained.”
Genius!!
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