Scan barcode
A review by andrew_russell
Let Us Now Praise Famous Men by James Agee
2.0
It's challenging to articulate what prevented James Agee's Let Us Now Praise Famous Men from offering the reading experience that it's subject matter and backpage blurb promised. On the one hand, it does exactly what is expected, offering a comprehensive picture of life in the Dustbowl, during the Great Depression of the 1930's. Agee tells us everything we need to know, about the dwellings inhabited by the three families of sharecroppers with whom he lived, about the clothes they wore, about the work they did. He was accompanied by legendary documentary photographer Walker Evans, both being on assignment for Fortune magazine.
So what did prevent this book from delivering? In short, it was more or less unremittingly dull. Agee's penchant for literary flourishes was employed when it was least needed and was not employed when it was most needed. One of the most tiresome sections of the book was that which described the dwellings which the tenant farmers lived in...in absolute mind-numbing detail. Agee stopped just short of relating every fingerprint. On every surface. It was tedious. And it was by and large written in a dry, documentarian style. Occasional (and I do mean very occasional) poetic flourishes are seen in these descriptions. But there is only so much poetic prose that can be brought to the fore when describing the pattern on some discarded sweet-wrappers found in a drawer. And yes, he really does go down to that level of detail.
Sometimes Agee's prose really is impressive, showing touches of genius. Invariably though, this is when he is writing of something that is at best tangentially related to the subject matter at hand - often, it is completely unrelated. Musings on something-or-other, that whilst of some interest, in some book, just don't fit particularly well within the pages of a book that sets out to convey the environs and lifestyle of Depression-era tenant farmers. A baby having a semi-erect penis, for example.
As I said earlier, Agee's book can hardly fail to convey something of what is expected of it; it flings the proverbial kitchen sink at the topic at hand. The prose, rather than being clinical in terms of it's precision, attempts to be exhaustive in it's coverage. As a result, it proves exhausting to read. I was glad to finish it.
So what did prevent this book from delivering? In short, it was more or less unremittingly dull. Agee's penchant for literary flourishes was employed when it was least needed and was not employed when it was most needed. One of the most tiresome sections of the book was that which described the dwellings which the tenant farmers lived in...in absolute mind-numbing detail. Agee stopped just short of relating every fingerprint. On every surface. It was tedious. And it was by and large written in a dry, documentarian style. Occasional (and I do mean very occasional) poetic flourishes are seen in these descriptions. But there is only so much poetic prose that can be brought to the fore when describing the pattern on some discarded sweet-wrappers found in a drawer. And yes, he really does go down to that level of detail.
Sometimes Agee's prose really is impressive, showing touches of genius. Invariably though, this is when he is writing of something that is at best tangentially related to the subject matter at hand - often, it is completely unrelated. Musings on something-or-other, that whilst of some interest, in some book, just don't fit particularly well within the pages of a book that sets out to convey the environs and lifestyle of Depression-era tenant farmers. A baby having a semi-erect penis, for example.
As I said earlier, Agee's book can hardly fail to convey something of what is expected of it; it flings the proverbial kitchen sink at the topic at hand. The prose, rather than being clinical in terms of it's precision, attempts to be exhaustive in it's coverage. As a result, it proves exhausting to read. I was glad to finish it.