Guilty Non-Pleasures
It’s been an extremely busy weekend, and I’m pretty short on time and energy, so here’s something light:
I’ve mentioned guilty pleasures here before, meaning pleasures that are not actually wrong, but which one is embarrassed to admit that one enjoys: action movies, for instance, or soap operas, or junk food. (In that last category, for instance, here is a major weakness of mine.)
But the discussion of the movie Into Great Silence (see the Two Movies post below) got me to thinking about the reverse of a guilty pleasure. This is not a thing one ought not to enjoy but does, but a thing one ought to enjoy but does not: a guilty non-pleasure (“guilty pain” would of course be the real opposite, but I think this is usually more a case of indifference than pain). Several were mentioned in the comments, e.g Francesca’s failed attempts to learn to like Mozart. The key here, I think, is that one is willing to admit that the fault is probably in oneself, not in the artist or the art. One sees that the thing is, objectively, good, or at least accepts that verdict on the authority of people one respects. But one takes little or no real pleasure in it.
Here are some of my guilty non-pleasures:
The Iliad. I prefer to assume that my indifference to this is a result of the fact that poetry is generally untranslatable. I know it has been considered a great poem for several thousand years, and who am I to argue with the judgment of the ages? But in translation all you get is the story, and I found the story, when told at this length, tiresome. Of course in its broad outlines the story is a classic and a foundation for much other literature. But without the music of its verse, the details all run together into a catalog of gruesome deaths and some rather arbitrary finagling on the part of some rather unlikeable gods. (The Odyssey is different, far more entertaining; as a child I read it several times in an abridged prose form and loved it.)
Dante. Again, I assume the problem here is that I’m reading it in translation. I’ve read Inferno three times, I think, in different translations, and never gotten much further. It’s interesting, and I know all about Dante’s significance, his Catholic imagination and wisdom and influence, but not once in reading him have I ever found myself moved as I am when reading Shakespeare; not once have I rejoiced in the sheer magnificence of it; not once have I taken my eyes off the page to savor and ponder a passage as poetry.
Milton. Translation, however, is not the problem here. Milton just isn’t that interesting. I’m not so sure this qualifies as a guilty non-pleasure, since it seems so widely shared among critics; does anybody really love Milton? I haven’t looked at him for decades. Perhaps I’ll like him better if I ever get around to him again.
Most religious painting since, say, Fra Angelico. Granted, I am not terribly interested in the visual arts; you’ll note that I mention literature and music in the sub-heading of this blog, but not painting or sculpture. Still, there is a great deal of art I like, in a casual sort of way. But I have yet to feel what I’m supposed to feel when I look at pictures of the Renaissance and Baroque art that fills the Vatican and which I have almost zero desire to see. Perhaps one day I’ll see it in person and understand. For now, though, most paintings of the Crucifixion and other Christian themes leave me completely cold.
I would say something similar about icons, by the way, if I were to judge them as art. I do find them very helpful in prayer and worship, which is what they’re meant for.
Most jazz before 1950. I mean traditional or Dixieland jazz as well as big-band. I’ve never been able to enjoy it much. I read someone’s account of how much Louis Armstrong’s music meant to him, and I recognized the feeling it gave him: it sounded a lot like what I feel when I listen to reggae. But it doesn’t do that for me; early jazz is of interest to me mainly as history.
Charlie Parker. Everyone who’s knowledgeable about jazz seems to believe that Parker was a first-class genius. I accept that on authority, but I don’t hear it. In fairness, I have to say that I’ve never really heard that much of his music, and maybe (probably) not his best. But what I’ve heard didn’t touch me, although I could see that it was technically astonishing.
I’m sure I’ll think of more of these later. I’m a little surprised that there is no pop music in the list; I think that’s because there isn’t much of it, perhaps none, that I take seriously enough to feel that I really ought to like it. I’d be interested in knowing what similar blind spots or failures to connect other people have.
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