I was watching a documentary on Mark Twain a couple days ago. I have always been a big fan of Twain, though I profess that I’ve probably only read four or five of his books in my lifetime.
While I am a fan of his writing, I am more a fan of the man himself, the myth and the reality. He was the first truly American writer, creating a style of writing that was uniquely from the American perspective. He is still regarded as the greatest humorist in American literature, turning out a remarkable and lasting string of novels, travelogues, narratives, short stories and essays in his lifetime.
Now, I’m not going to bore you with an essay of my own about his life and times. If you want a great documentary on Twain, I highly recommend Ken Burns’ epic tome. Just be sure that you have four hours available to watch it as you won’t want to get up, even for a drink or a pee.
While watching the show, it was the Janmeister who noted the similarities between Twain and I. Now, I don’t profess to be his equal or even live in his shadow, but I had never before noticed how he and I had so much in common.
Twain was a big success during his lifetime, but also lived a very tragic life, losing his children long before their time, including his beloved daughters Clara and Jean as well as his wife. He was a horrible failure in business; at one time losing his entire fortune in the development of an elaborate typesetting machine that never made it to market. The venture bankrupted him, causing him to return to the lecture circuit that he so loathed in order to repay his debtors, even though he was under no obligation to do so.
Two of the things that really grabbed me during this show was a statement by a literature and Mark Twain expert who said that “all humor comes from sorrow” and that part of Twain’s success was the fact that he was a “noticer.”
I must say that the first statement was astounding to me, but is certainly true. My own life has had plenty of happenstance that would have felled many a lesser man, but it is through humor that I make it through every travail in my life, from the epic failures of relationships to the death of my brother. There is deep sorrow buried deep inside me, something only a few people have ever been privy to, fueling my levity and jocular nature each and every day.
However, it was the part about being a “noticer” that really caught my attention. In the many years I have been on this rock, I too have been a noticer. I didn’t know it had an actual name for it. Perhaps this expert created the moniker himself. But it is something I am really good at.
Twain was as well. The show talked about how he would watch how someone went through their pocket to find the change they needed, or how a particular person spoke. He captured these nuances in his mind, small things most people don’t give a second thought to, using it as fodder for his writing.
In fact, if you read Twain’s most beloved works, Tom Sawyer or Huckleberry Finn, for instance, you’ll find that part of their charm is the mastery of American conversation. Sure, he could have cleaned up the vernacular for publication, but he kept it raw and pure, something no author had done before, and few if any have duplicated since. He brought the characters to life through their careless grammar and the beauty of simple storytelling, often with deep meaning.
If you were to read Huck Finn today, you may not even realize that the book was very controversial in its time for it boldly took on racism and slavery not long after the end of the Civil War. While we may find some of the language inappropriate, including the use of the “N” word, every word was with intent, bringing a politically charged topic to light in a wrapper of timely humor and superb storytelling.
I have always had this same ability, to notice the little things in life; the odd habits people have, the rituals they use to make their way through an ordinary day, their use of slang and the cadence of their delivery, all those little things that make each of us different and unique.
I used to think everyone was a noticer. They aren’t. Some past loves used to mistake my aloofness at a party for being bored. Hardly. I had more stimuli than I could handle; a party is a noticer’s heaven. I could spend the whole night in a corner watching all the action – people trying to hook up, others trying to be the most important person in the room, still others pouring out their hearts to a complete stranger, their miserable lives on display, courtesy of a little too much alcohol. Each person eventually finds their way into my stories; a little bit of one, some of another and out pops a new character.
I guess that’s why I don’t understand the obsession with an iPhone, Kindle or iPad on the bus. Everyone is inwardly turned, not noticing all the wonderful input out there. Me? I’m a people watcher on the bus. Yes, more fodder for my writing, more crazy characters to lift traits from, more conversations to listen to, ones that may come to life in a scene of a book or a short story I am writing.
And as I look around the bus, the dentist’s office or the holiday party, I can easily tell who is a noticer and who are the noticed. We noticers will nod to one another in acknowledgement, knowing that we have had the chance to indulge in one of Mark Twain’s favorite pastimes, watching the world pass us by, soaking all the important parts in, and reveling in the fact that what we see around us, in turn, makes us feel alive.
The next time I look bored, don’t be fooled for a moment. I’m very, very busy… noticing.
In the Emerald City, thinking of heading to Costco so I can notice things for a spell,
– Robb