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sgunther 's review for:
Robinson Crusoe
by Daniel Defoe
The "stranded on a desert island" story has been told by countless authors, filmmakers, etc. It's a great story, and so many artists have made it greater—more complex, more beautiful, more intriguing. So when reading Robinson Crusoe, one's mind tends to gravitate towards other, more recent examples of this sort of tale, thinking regretfully that such-and-such artist did it so much better and why is it Defoe's book that's remembered as a classic?
The answer, of course, is this: because it's the first of its kind. If it's a straightforward book that brings nothing new to the rich literary table of the 21st century, that's because it's the staple ingredient in many of the other dishes on said table. If we're bored reading this because of a lingering sense of "been there, done that," we have to remind ourselves that, when Defoe wrote this, none of his readers had yet been there or done that. So we have to give him some credit. Because, whatever has happened in the past 300 years on any such archetypal deserted island, the fact remains that Robinson found the island first.
The answer, of course, is this: because it's the first of its kind. If it's a straightforward book that brings nothing new to the rich literary table of the 21st century, that's because it's the staple ingredient in many of the other dishes on said table. If we're bored reading this because of a lingering sense of "been there, done that," we have to remind ourselves that, when Defoe wrote this, none of his readers had yet been there or done that. So we have to give him some credit. Because, whatever has happened in the past 300 years on any such archetypal deserted island, the fact remains that Robinson found the island first.