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(Ch.5)"Starchy clothes -- very. You think you're a good
deal of a big-bug, DON'T you?"
"Maybe I am, maybe I ain't," I says.
"Don't you give me none o' your lip," says he.
"You've put on considerable many frills since I been
away. I'll take you down a peg before I get done
with you. You're educated, too, they say -- can read
and write. You think you're better'n your father,
now, don't you, because he can't? I'LL take it out of
you. Who told you you might meddle with such
hifalut'n foolishness, hey? -- who told you you could?"
"The widow. She told me."
"The widow, hey? -- and who told the widow she
could put in her shovel about a thing that ain't none of
her business?"
"Nobody never told her."
"Well, I'll learn her how to meddle. And looky
here -- you drop that school, you hear? I'll learn
people to bring up a boy to put on airs over his own
father and let on to be better'n what HE is. You lemme
catch you fooling around that school again, you hear?
Your mother couldn't read, and she couldn't write,
nuther, before she died. None of the family couldn't before THEY died. I can't; and here you're a-swelling
yourself up like this. I ain't the man to stand it --
you hear? Say, lemme hear you read."
First they done a lecture on temperance; but they
didn't make enough for them both to get drunk on.
Then in another village they started a dancing-school;
but they didn't know no more how to dance than a
kangaroo does; so the first prance they made the
general public jumped in and pranced them out of
town. Another time they tried to go at yellocution;
but they didn't yellocute long till the audience got up
and give them a solid good cussing, and made them
skip out. They tackled missionarying, and mesmeriz-
ing, and doctoring, and telling fortunes, and a little of
everything; but they couldn't seem to have no luck.
So at last they got just about dead broke, and laid
around the raft as she floated along, thinking and
thinking, and never saying nothing, by the half a day
at a time, and dreadful blue and desperate
It made me shiver. And I about made up my mind
to pray, and see if I couldn't try to quit being the kind
of a boy I was and be better. So I kneeled down.
But the words wouldn't come. Why wouldn't they?
It warn't no use to try and hide it from Him. Nor
from ME, neither. I knowed very well why they
wouldn't come. It was because my heart warn't right;
it was because I warn't square; it was because I was
playing double. I was letting ON to give up sin, but
away inside of me I was holding on to the biggest one
of all. I was trying to make my mouth SAY I would
do the right thing and the clean thing, and go and write
to that nigger's owner and tell where he was; but deep
down in me I knowed it was a lie, and He knowed it.
You can't pray a lie -- I found that out.
So I was full of trouble, full as I could be; and
didn't know what to do. At last I had an idea; and I
says, I'll go and write the letter -- and then see if I can
pray. Why, it was astonishing, the way I felt as light
as a feather right straight off, and my troubles all
gone. So I got a piece of paper and a pencil, all
glad and excited, and set down and wrote:
Miss Watson, your runaway n***** Jim is down
here two mile below Pikesville, and Mr. Phelps
has got him and he will give him up for the
reward if you send.
HUCK FINN.
I felt good and all washed clean of sin for the first
time I had ever felt so in my life, and I knowed I
could pray now. But I didn't do it straight off, but
laid the paper down and set there thinking -- thinking
how good it was all this happened so, and how near I
come to being lost and going to hell. And went on
thinking. And got to thinking over our trip down the
river; and I see Jim before me all the time: in the
day and in the night-time, sometimes moonlight, some-
times storms, and we a-floating along, talking and
singing and laughing. But somehow I couldn't seem
to strike no places to harden me against him, but only
the other kind. I'd see him standing my watch on top
of his'n, 'stead of calling me, so I could go on sleep-
ing; and see him how glad he was when I come back
out of the fog; and when I come to him again in the
swamp, up there where the feud was; and such-like
times; and would always call me honey, and pet me
and do everything he could think of for me, and how
good he always was; and at last I struck the time I
saved him by telling the men we had small-pox aboard,
and he was so grateful, and said I was the best friend
old Jim ever had in the world, and the ONLY one he's
got now; and then I happened to look around and see
that paper.
It was a close place. I took it up, and held it in
my hand. I was a-trembling, because I'd got to de-
cide, forever, betwixt two things, and I knowed it. I
studied a minute, sort of holding my breath, and then
says to myself:
"All right, then, I'll GO to hell" -- and tore it up.
SFG75 said:This book has to be the best book written in America in the 19th century.
But why? Why is it derserving if this title, and what seperates it from every other book out there that deals with racism and prejudice? In what ways is it timeless? I personally felt that To Kill A Mockingbird dealt with the whole racism concept much more effectively and believeably, as well as far outdoing Huck Finn in terms of pure enjoyment. So why does this book not deserve the title of "The Great American Novel" more than the mediocre Huck Finn?veggiedog said:While it is hard for high school kids (such as myself) to apply it to a modern context, I found it to be a timeless read and completely deserving of its title as "The Great American Novel".
MonkeyCatcher said:But why? Why is it derserving if this title, and what seperates it from every other book out there that deals with racism and prejudice? In what ways is it timeless? I personally felt that To Kill A Mockingbird dealt with the whole racism concept much more effectively and believeably, as well as far outdoing Huck Finn in terms of pure enjoyment. So why does this book not deserve the title of "The Great American Novel" more than the mediocre Huck Finn?
abecedarian said:For one thing, Samuel Clements was speaking out against racism, bigotry, and other social injustice long before the modern civil rights movement. As a white man, he was siding with "them" and using common, ordinary characters to do so. The use of southern dialect was to allow the non-southern reader to 'live' in the shoes of these folks for just a time.
SFG75 said:This book has to be the best book written in America in the 19th century. There are so many different radical notions in it, and it's truly a timeless book. The vernacular is somewhat annoying, but once you get use to it, you appreciate the book that much more.
Oh where to begin?
-Twain notes the anti-intellectualism of the antebellum era, best portrayed by Huck's abusive good-for-nothing father.
(Ch.5)
And who can't forget the infamous Duke and the Dauphin? Two shysters who portrayed themselves as royalty or famous actors as they went from town to town? Yet a good portrayal of southern corruption and hypocrisy when ti came to moral standards. The way that it is written as well, very few authors can make amusing, sarcastic lines like this and make it sound superb. Twain's writing is truly something to behold as he writes in a humorous "down home" way. Chapter 31 is right on in this regard as...
Not only that, but the climax to me, and the most radical part of the book, is when Twain has Huck decide to free Jim.
This whole passage of the book reveals it's greatness. It's what makes the good book a compelling anti-slave narrative. It's subversive, and that is what is so disappointing about the book being banned in schools. People who desire to ban it can't see the forest from the trees. And what a shame, for if they could, they'd realize that the book they hold is a devastiting critique of southern life and of slavery.