The Danger of the Long Read (or, The Worst Paragraph Ever Written)

I'm finally doing it, y'all. I'm reading Moby Dick, by Herman Melville. The whole fucking thing. My copy is a little over 600 pages with some pretty small type.

I'm halfway through it, and I have to say: Not Bad. Well, like, incredible, but as a reading experience, it's got its ups and downs. First off, it's super readable. Short chapters, minus the 40-something-page digression where Ishmael talks about all the different kinds of whales there are. And for 173-year-old writing, pretty accessible. Lots of flourishes of great prose, but not at all dense like a Faulkner or Joyce or Stein sort of experience.

I bring this up, because I'm easily daunted by Long Form Entertainment. They're remounting GATZ here in New York City this fall. This is a famous production from about 15 years ago by the theater company Elevator Repair Service wherein they read (and act out) the entire text of The Great Gatsby. I missed it when it happend before, and I'd like to see it, but holy shit it's almost 9 hours long. Maybe not?

I didn't see Oppenheimer because, well, 3-plus hours? I need that shit assigned to me by a judge before I sit through that.

I used to not be like this. I loved a 900-page Stephen King joint. I would watch the most boring arthouse epics imaginable. I never even thought to check run-times of films. But these days, idk, maybe I'm pickier in my old age. Maybe I'm busier than I was in my 20s and early 30s. But I think there's something else at work. Let's call it "Mandoline Syndrome."

You ever used a mandoline? The kitchen device, not the stringed musical instrument. It's a very sharp horizontal blade on a flat surface. You take your vegetable like a cucumber or potato or whatever and you slide it back and forth and it makes very thin slices of that vegetable. That mandoline.

Well, I used to own a mandoline, and one night I got a little sloppy, a little too comfortable, and let's just say losing half a knuckle hurts like all get out. So much blood, and so much sharp, sharp, sharp pain.

These days, if I watch a cooking show, and someone pulls out a mandoline slicer, my body tenses up. I'm actually triggered by just seeing a mandoline in use. I, of course, got rid of my mandoline and haven't gone back since.

Let's bring all this back to Long Form Entertainment. In 2010, I read Edward Rutherford's epic historical fiction New York. 860 pages. I was undaunted. I like historical epics. Let's do this. And I did, and it was really good. Like not groundbreaking, but those 860 pages cooked. Loved the stories, loved the historical look at my favorite city. I thought, I'm gonna have to read more of this guy. A real modern-day James Michener, this fellow.

And then I got to the end. Which takes place present-day (mid 2000s for when the novel was written), and the main character of that era was just a guy romanticizing New York City. And okay, fine. We NYC-transplants have all done that. Sure. Great.

But he then gets obsessed with Strawberry Fields in Central Park, and with 1 WTC (which was originally pitched as "The Freedom Tower.") and he comes to this final (FINAL!) paragraph. After 860 pages this is what he landed on:

"Imagine. Freedom. Always."

Fuck off.

When I read that, I actually threw the book across the room.

I think this paragraph was my Mandoline accident of reading. I'm so reluctant to read a book longer than 350 pages, watch a movie over 2 hours, or even start a TV-show with more than 2 seasons.

I've read plenty of books with lackluster, even bad, endings. This isn't either. It's an offense. It suggests that Rutherford doesn't trust someone who'll read a 700+ page novel has any critical thinking skills.

"This is why people hate New Yorkers, Edward!" I shouted. And I share this with you only to say two things:

1) If you're a writer, don't do this.

2) Even when we're scared, we can overcome. Imagine. Reading. A Long Book.

Please don't spoil Moby Dick in the comments, btw. I don't know how it ends, though, I've got my fingers crossed that Queequeg and Stubb get married in the end.

-Jeffrey Cranor
Aug 26, 2024