If I Could Play Guitar I’d be Jimmy Page…

So, as some of you may have noticed from the sidebar, I am currently reading Lolita. I put off reading this book for a long time because of the socially taboo nature of its theme. However, some time ago I compiled a list of "must-read" books from several other various lists of "must-read" books that I found on the internet and this one is near the top of almost all of them. Critics and readers alike proclaim this book to be one of the greatest written novels around for its use of language and allegorical references (among other things). However, the controversial reputation of this book has greatly overshadowed the literary praise it has received. I admit I was a bit nervous when I began to openly read it in the break room here at work, since I am often asked the typical questions of what I am reading, what it's about, etc, and I really didn't want to share with my co-workers that I was currently perusing a novel about a grown man who falls in love and runs off with a young, adolescent girl. I am honestly concerned that people will think I condone this type of behavior by being seen reading such material. But I couldn't hold off this selection on my reading list much longer so I finally broke down and got it from the library (humorously, I wanted to be discreet and go through the self-checkout but I forgot my library card that day. So, not only did I have to disclose my reading selection to the librarian, I also had the added embarrassment of having to go to the "special" checkout desk so they could look up my personal information...).

Well, the level of odd stares and comments that I expected from my co-workers was not as intense as I expected. Perhaps most of them are just unaware of this book's disputatious history. However, I was asked by one fellow the questions mentioned above, and once I gave him the answers he asked why in the world anyone would ever want to read that kind of stuff. I tried to defend the novel by relating its literary redeeming qualities, but he responded that it was just like the movie Brokeback Mountain and that everyone said it was so good but he wasn't going to watch it because it was about (well, you all know what it was about without me having to paraphrase his sentiments). I continued to try to explain that sometimes we must look beyond what is written and consider how it is written, but I think that argument went over his head. That did get me thinking, though, of all of the other books that have a far greater value due to their respective techniques and themes than the actual stories themselves. For instance, what would On the Road be without Kerouac's distinct spontaneous prose and bebop style? Would it just be a disconnected collection of hitchhiking vignettes? Or how about Naked Lunch (which actually went before the Supreme Court to defend its redeeming value)? All that book consists of is technique and style. There is no central story line. Would The Stranger just be another pulp murder paperback without Camus' existentialist themes? What about Catcher in the Rye? Ulysses? Lady Chatterley’s Lover? Tropic of Cancer? The list goes on...

The same argument can be made for music, film, art and pretty much any other creative endeavor out there. But where do we draw the line? How long can we overlook a weak story line or endure a socially taboo one if it is presented in a technical or stylish masterpiece form? Is there a breaking point? I'm certainly not advocating censorship by any means, but is there a point where we begin to fool ourselves and start celebrating obscenity as art? Or is it all just subjective and in the eye of the beholder anyway? How do we define “art?”