Martin Eden | a Review
originally published on 29/10/2023;
Hello everyone, I am the aspiring author, G.E.M.Simov, a fellow hoping to end well, here to tell you about Jack London's novel "Martin Eden".
Simple review details - I rank books on an out of 10 basis, granting up to 3 points in 3 categories, as well as a last, single point from my own self, depending on my experience with it.
The version I read was translated, so keep that in mind as it might have affected some considerations that have led up to the conclusions reached in this review.
Contents
This is a book about life, about love, about social class, about writing and about genius (or perhaps neurodivergence/autism).
It swims about these topics and intertwined them, seemingly never fully committing to one or the other, maintaining them all in focus, though I felt as though it ultimately was drawn towards social class far more than anything else.
Sure, it could be said that this book was about life, predominantly, describing the struggles of the working class, describing the joys of love and the joys of success, as well as the great sorrows accompanying failure and, once again, love. It could be said that this book encompasses the strangeness of life itself, all its traits and oddities, its quirks and privies, yet it did not truly sing life its praises.
If anything, it was a book that presented life as it is under the conditions of capitalism, with many who suffer and a select few who do not, but with neither knowing enough about the other to truly understand and the positions that are present. In that very moment it becomes a book about social class, rather than life, and yet there is no social class without life. It showcased the possible horrors of life in the upper classes, as well as the everyday terrors of life in the lower classes. There is an overwhelming sense of dread and inescapabilty that is presented by Martin Eden, one that culminates in the only solution.
Even so, with the book being about social class, it is still about life. It could be said that this contradiction - that it can't be about life and also about social class, as it has to be predominantly about one or the other - manages to dialectically overcome the contradiction and gets made better because of it. And yet it is as much a book about life as it is about death - and in most cases it appears to be a book that is about death, rather than life.
For when reading Martin Eden, the main character is always one step away from death. Every character is also one step away from death, or they are already dead in some capacity, be it an intellectual death, be it a physical death, be it a personal death, or one of morals or even dignity. Even the death of reason is loudly proclaimed, indirectly, but it is present in the book, and it is far more present than life itself.
Life is barely there. A few fine moments are displayed, explaining away just how wondrous life is, and even some characters crave life so violently that it is inexplicable, yet those characters are on death's door, and it could be argued that what is being written about is death, rather than life. Alas, a disconnect between those two is hard to make, so I will cease my attempts at babbling.
Still, this book portrays life as more reminiscent of death. For the life of a worker is crushing and grueling, and being a worker means death for everything but your body, which is kept at the brink, forced to experience 16 hour workdays without pause, during which one can not even think and after which one can not clearly think.
Such torture is life as a member of the working class, that death seems preferable. But whereas the proletariat is afflicted with such ailments by their circumstances, so is the bourgeoisie. The upper class goes through a death entirely different. Their souls are crushed, they rid those beneath them of their humanity and lose their ability to wield rationality. The death of reason is so present that it is almost astounding how well animated the corpses walking about are.
While the proletariat dies from far too much work and far too little pay, the bourgeoisie dies from justifying forcing the proletariat into those conditions and keeping them there.
And while the workers are truly alive when they are given the chance to unwind after work, the upper classes are never truly alive. They have traded their humanity for amenities and status that appear more valuable. Upholding their position, justifying their social standing, acting as is proper - they play games, the rules of which are purposefully exclusionary, so that the proletariat can not join in. And that exclusivity is not because of a want to protect themselves or the workers, no, it is present because it appears to be yet another justification for the separation between them.
Those who are incapable of playing the game are not worthy of interacting with us, put in simple terms.
And so on and so forth it goes. Martin Eden is a worker, a member of the proletariat, but he knows nothing. That is so by design, and he lives quite happily while he knows nothing. However, as he starts learning, things change. He learns of the bourgeoisie, he learns of the proletariat. He comes to understand both sides and he realizes that their circumstances are like the exact same Fregean function, only with different arguments. Ones are molded by their environment, and so are the others.
But ones look up towards the others, whereas the latter look down at the former. For a member of the proletariat being a member of the bourgeoisie is a dream that will never come to be. For a member of the bourgeoisie, being a member of the proletariat is a nightmare unlike any other.
Though, before this turns into a condemnation of the class divide affecting our society (still to this day, as the middle class is not a solution), the point is that those are things that might become visible to members of the classes, but the book emphasizes the fact that they will be almost impossible to overcome. It is not nature, it is nurture, argues Jack London and maintains that one who has been molded finely enough will forever fit the mold, and the mindset to be had by the bourgeoisie will forever remain one of disdain and disgust, as well as mistrust and fear towards the proletariat, while the latter will be envious of the former, but they will also elevate them on a pedestal and believe that the way things are is right.
Love appears as something that changes one's viewpoint, as something that affects the sight of those who experience it. It appears to have the potential to bridge the gap between the proletariat and the bourgeoisie, but only initially. Alas, it is uncovered that the case is not such, and that the ingrained rules surrounding one's social class are far more important than love.
The way love acts, however, is impressive. It acts as an adhesive, connecting a person to life and keeping them from death. Only because of love would a person be able to spend two months with 8 total days off, dedicating 16 hours a day to back breaking labor, and only then would that person still be able to stay alive and cognizant.
And even then the cognizance of that individual was heavily impeded by the hellish conditions forced upon him. So grueling is life that there is a trick needed for its subversion. Love is that trick, it allows one to make it through incredible challenges and survive.
It is, however, also a great propulsor towards death. In the event of love's cessation, one's reason to live fades with them, as happens in this book, even if it is not understood by the character affected by it. It is an incredible engine of life, but it is also an unnerving underminer of that same life.
Simultaneously, it also presents itself as a source of motivation, both in regards to working, as well as seeking a means of transcending social class. Most of all, however, it is an inspiration to write.
A writer driven by love writes constantly. Of course, the love that the writer feels can be directed towards a human, but it can also be directed towards beauty itself. In the latter, it seems as though that love is infinite, endless and ceaseless, though the book presents a query - and it posits if that is the case.
For does not that one character who lives out of his love for beauty, out of his love and desire for life, not take his own life? Why would he do such a thing? Perhaps because that infinite love he feels is actually finite, and it has run out? Or, perhaps, because life has lost its luster, its reason to be loved? Maybe it is the impossibility to love it completely that drove the character to end his own life?
Or was it this completeness that had been achieved? Perhaps it was the reason for the suicide - as the character's love is so perfectly expressed that he winds up with no reason to keep being. Maybe that is the true crux of the matter - love is unified in that moment, as the love of life and the love of another are both expressible. So, if one completely expressed their love, and received no response, could it be that their love is shattered? If there is no return, why love at all? Why live?
Evidently, that is the solution found. Through expression of one's love, of beauty or of another, one writes. And as one writes, one expresses himself, betters his ability to express himself, until he expresses himself perfectly. At that point, though, there's no point in expressing oneself further, is there?
And so the writer only writes until they can express themselves perfectly, at which point they express themselves and cease to be, or, rather, they cease needing to be. Fortunately, no writer manages to express themselves perfectly.
That's when genius comes in - the genius mind is capable of reaching such heights, supposedly, and so it can achieve that goal. In this book, the reader is presented with some genius minds, ones who are truly intelligent, and they are harmed creatures. One has managed to suppress himself, to keep himself from achieving perfect expression, through which he has maintained his need to be, while others are so driven by the intrinsic need to express themselves that they ultimately accomplish that task.
By doing so, they no longer have a need to be, and either away until they either die or kill themselves.
And what is the genius mind if not that of a neurodivergent individual? After all, there is a consensus that their minds do not work as those the minds of "average" people, or neurotypical folks. This book depicts neurodivergence in a very interesting manner, without focusing on it.
There is no explicit statement indicating that a certain individual is such or such, there is no indication that it is noticed by others or that it is even importantly recognized by the individual in question, and yet it is an irreplaceable aspect of their character. In the case of Martin Eden, it presents itself as the way he views events and people, as this incredible picture that paints itself before him.
This allows him to excel at writing, yet it also presents a challenge in other areas. It also helps to to excel at learning and reading, which he does at a far greater pace than pretty much anyone. In fact, it seems as though Martin Eden is so much greater than anyone else in every field imaginable that he almost appears without flaw. Funnily enough, that makes his flaws almost come out of nowhere, yet the key thing here is that they are present and almost as overwhelming as his boons.
Then there's the incredible way the book examines fame, and how people treat others. Again - it is closely related to the commentary provided on the working class and the non-working class. It's so bizarre, yet at the same time it is perfectly spoken and worded.
They supposedly acknowledge one for his work, yet when the work was finished, there is no acknowledgement. The acknowledgement only comes when one has been made rich or famous, given social status and propelled through the ranks of the social ladder. An astounding contradiction, which no one dares to address. Again - an apparent critique of the system and the contemporary conditions of late-stage capitalism.
The contents explored are plentiful and spectacularly examined. There is even a fantastic implementation of philosophy, with a multitude of particular philosophers being utilized as means of developing characters and shedding more light upon the world, or rather society's, unfortunate state. 3/3
Richness of Expression
This was a great book. It was a very well written book, at the very least. That much I can say, because it was immensely pleasant to read and grabbed my attention, or at the very least kept me engaged to the very end. I was mostly held captive to its narrative, for I could not tell where it was going to go, or how it was going to end.
I simply read on and on. It was captivatingly smooth, a very sweet drink that went down my gullet with absolutely no complaints, and it almost left me wanting more. Almost.
Now, while I will be giving this book the highest possible score for richness of Expression, for it is a book that does express itself tremendously and presents many, many things through an incredible lens, it has a few shortcomings.
Much like most other books that feature songs or poems, I am left displeased by their presence. On the one hand, that is quite alright, please do hit me over the head with a poem, if you consider it important for the story. However, if its meaning can be presented through prose and fit into the story without an explicit quotation of the poem, then why not do so?
Perhaps that is my own dislike for poetry, and the fact that it remains too open for interpretation and too vague, incapable of concretely expressing what it means, as a result of which I will not be counting down the score in this category. I will simply point it out.
One other thing that could be considered an issue is the fact that this book featured long, LONG paragraphs that took up almost entire pages. Now, in my writing, I get a lot of shit for long paragraphs and long sentences. Thus, I will ask why is it not wrong for Jack London to do this kind of thing? If anything, I would argue that it is wrong - because it was, sometimes, too much.
The amount of text is overbearing. See, a sentence conveys a thought, but a paragraph conveys a sequence of thoughts that are tightly knit together into a nearly particular thought of their own. The longer the thought, the harder it is to keep track of. So, when a thought spans an entire page and features 500 words, one winds up challenged by it.
Fortunately for Jack London, the challenge is not truly challenging, but, rather, simply bothersome. It might require a return to the start, or to a particular point of the paragraph, so that the thought can be caught once more. Either way, it is a bit annoying.
Lastly, there was a funny thing. I think that Hume and Hegel were referred to as Ume and Hekel in this book. It's peculiar and interesting, and I felt the need to mention it. 3/3
Story
Martin Eden is a sailor. He saves a bourgeois man from getting beaten up and is invited to dinner at the Mors family. There, he gets his first look at bourgeois life, and he also sees Ruth - the only daughter of the Mors family. He immediately falls in love with her.
They have a short little chat, in which he manages to express interest in poetry, and she lends him two books. Following that, he starts reading and trying to learn how to behave in high society, because he would like to become worthy of Ruth. He reads a lot, and when he returns the books, the two of them manage to spring a friendship, of sorts.
She has also fallen in love with him, though she has no idea that it is so. She lends him another book, and starts helping him learn proper grammar. He buys things so that he can spend more time at her place - a proper suit, a bicycle - and gets a little low on funds, so he sets off on another voyage.
Following that voyage, he gets the urge to write, and so he does. He really likes writing, and he is ecstatic. He also develops his grammar and learns more and more things, reading more and more. He starts trying to get his writings published in magazines, but no one is accepting them.
One early autumn day, Ruth realizes she has fallen in love with him, and they get engaged verbally. Martin asks her to wait two years, so that he may get on his feet, and she agrees.
Her parents are not supportive, but they only start introducing more people to her and inviting them over, as a means of showing her how much better people from their class are than Martin Eden. Martin, who has kept reading, is incredibly aware of many things, and even clashes with her father on some political topics.
On one such gathering, he meets a fellow, Brissenden, who appears most unpleasant, but he winds up being incredibly smart and a proper individual who likes almost everything that Martin likes. They spend a lot of time together, with the bourgeois friend often taking Martin places to eat, and they become good friends. Martin shows him what he has written. Brissenden really likes it. His friend takes him to a socialist rally, because it is interesting, not because Martin shares viewpoints with them, and he riles up the crowd with a powerful argument against socialism.
Then he is branded a socialist by a present journalist. That is the straw that breaks the camel's back, and Ruth's parents break off the engagement and announce that they do not want her meeting him. She sends him a letter, telling him that she will not see him anymore. And that she does not love him either.
He manages to see her, asking her if she meant it, and she admits it. Heartbroken, he has only his bourgeois friend left. Brissenden presents Martin with a lengthy poem he names his swansong, and Martin manages to convince him to enter a wager that even magazine editors will be able to see how good it is.
A while later, Brissenden's poem is accepted. However, Brissenden has killed himself. Funnily enough, Martin follows his friend's advice and manages to get one publishing house to publish an essay of his. It does well, very well and suddenly people start looking to buy Martin's manuscript. He becomes filthy rich and monstrously famous, but he has neither love nor friends.
He decides to get away, sails to the Hawaiian Islands, planning on making himself a thatch hut, but on the way there he decides to kill himself and throws himself off the boat.
This story is a tragedy, through and through. Even though the main character is immensely capable and could be called overpowered, nothing goes his way. He barely escapes having no money and being thrown on the street thrice, once by going on a voyage and being a sailor, once by almost killing himself via working at a hotel's laundry, once by getting lucky via Brissenden just giving him 100 dollars.
He is constantly fighting an uphill battle - he does not know enough, he does not have enough money, he spends 19 hours a day writing and reading in his futile attempts to become rich and famous so as to earn what is needed to sway Ruth, he is constantly disheartened, first by his fellow working class people, then by the bourgeoisie that shows itself to be full of selfish fools who think themselves better than others just because they believe themselves right, he is disillusioned with writing for the magazines scam him and twist his work horribly, he is disillusioned with life itself.
And then it gets worse - he loses his love, he loses his only proper friend… It's totally hopeless. Life has no meaning any more. He no longer needs anything - not even to live. And yet now things get going. It's too late, it does not matter any more. He can't bring back his love for Ruth, he can't bring Brissenden back, he can't make himself want to live again.
Even with hundreds of thousands of dollars, even with unfathomable fame and such easy access to the bourgeoisie that he can simply walk up to a person of high standing and get invited to lunch.
It's terribly malevolent, fate, as it gives him the success he supposedly wanted, but does so too late. Not only that, but he is so changed by the events of those two years that he can no longer go back to the working class, to live that life he lived before, but he can't stand the bourgeoisie, for they disgust him with how horribly they waste what they have.
The story can be very nice, very filled with hope and even mirth, but it masterfully pulls the rug from underneath the reader and forces them down to the ground, in the dirt.
Most of the characters were three-dimensional, others were hinted at being such, but they were incredibly one note, being immaculate reflections of many people in reality. I did not appreciate the fact that Martin Eden gets to a point of concluding what a person's capabilities are and attributing a value to them based off of those observed, by him, things. It's not unrealistic, but, rather, the way in which that conclusion is reached seems dismissive, or indicative of the diminutive quality of the person.
I liked it, until I no longer liked it. I suppose I have not beheld depression in the manner that it was seen by Martin Eden, I suppose I have not achieved as much as him, but I can not truly understand his reasoning to end his life. Sure, it appeared to be the only conclusion his life and story could be given, but that does not make it any less implausible.
Maybe I am not neurodivergent, or maybe I am neurodivergent in my own way - I can't imagine being in a situation like Martin Eden and solving my problems by doing what he does.
It seems thoroughly unlike what he ought to do. He was established as someone who fought on infinitely, whose will was so immaculately impossible to overcome that he could do anything. And yet he did not even appear to attempt a reclamation of his will to live. He simply sat down and accepted it, without so much as a struggle.
If there were no scenes depicting his monstrous tenacity and immovable willpower, I would have been willing to say that the story was perfect, that it's conclusion was as good as anything could be, for everything else points directly in that direction, it all implies that we live in a capitalist hellscape and we are perpetually in hell, and the only escape is death.
But those scenes are there. They tell the reader that he can not be brought down - that he will keep fighting until his arms are broken and even if his face is so bloody that he cannot see! He is indomitable, yet he gets thoroughly crushed… By what? The system? Perhaps the system crushes him, but the story makes it clear that he was crushed when Ruth renounced her love of him, and when his love for her was shattered, as well as when Brissenden took his own life.
Thus, I cannot, in good conscience, give this story the highest score possible. Still, it is very good and engaging! 2/3
Legendary Point
Does this book get the legendary point, so craved and wanted by all and none at the same time?
I do not know. On the one hand, it is incredibly similar, conclusion-wise, to a concept I've explored in some of my writing - the idea that things don't turn out the way one wants them to, and that they wind up working out in the worst possible manner imaginable, but they still work out. In essence, Martin Eden gets what he had wanted - fame, money and even the girl. It's entirely circumstantial that he no longer desires either of those things, as a result of which it is an empty victory.
But then the way the story gets there makes me feel a measure of disdain for it. It does not subvert expectations, it plays into them. Everything is so horrible, throughout, that it makes complete sense that things will end horribly. In addition to that, anything that is good and joyful is tainted by that horrible feeling. Improvements and growth are coupled with slipping down a slope towards an unfavorable view, they are coupled with no recognition other than from the self - it is all entirely gray, whenever there is joy, and whenever there is no glee, that is when it is as dark as it ought to be.
And I find myself wondering how come this tale was told a hundred years ago, and how come things are nowhere near as different as they should be? People still work themselves to death, people work themselves into a stupor, draining their humanities from themselves, and the rich see the poor in that same manner, and the poor exist in the same manner as they did before… It saddens me.
Perhaps that's a great good that can be attributed to the book - it affects me in an incredible manner, emotionally. However, is it the book that affects me, or is it society's sorry state?
I think I won't give this book the legendary point, no, sir! Because it left me sad, irreparably sad, it left me hopeless, with no avenue for any recuperation… But mostly because I just don't feel like it. 0/1
Conclusion
8/10. This is a spectacular book, one that I can say should be read by every adult. It so perfectly displays the struggle of the working class that, even purely for that, it is a necessity to read. The idea that we live in a hellscape created out of our own inaction should be ingrained within us, but we should not believe that there's no means of solving the problem, or that things need to remain that way - no positivism here.
In addition to that, the book is just good. It is well written and it is a splendid read that provokes the reader in more than one way. A must read!
I tuck it under my belt, another shining achievement that I proudly display. Fantastic!