Within 24 hours of announcing my intentions of reading an alphabet of shorter fiction (short stories, novella – I’m still trying to determine the dividing line), I was exhorted twice, from completely separate sources, to ensure that Bartleby The Scrivener received my attention.  That coupled with a dinky “Art of the Novella” edition accelerated its rise to the top of the TBR.

I’ve never read Melville before – Moby Dick in its epic grandness is far too daunting but 64 pages of Bartleby is a much more attractive proposition.  This novella has gained much recognition since it was published to critical disdain in 1853.  With hindsight it can be viewed as a precursor to absurdist literature, a genre that those giants of C20th literature, Camus and Kafka,  developed to its full potential.

This does not augur well; Camus and Kafka have both driven me to distraction in the past (yet strangely I find myself contemplating revisiting both ….).  Fortunately I found Bartleby much more palatable – more gentle in its absurdism – no big black beetles for a start.  Bartleby is simply a man who refuses to abide by the rules – doesn’t pull his weight – isn’t a team player – simply prefers not to do anything his employer asks of him.  The employer – the narrator of the tale – at first tries to accommodate his wayward employee because Bartleby is a sympathetic and gentle soul.  Matters escalate.  The simple way of interpreting events is that Bartleby gets his comeuppance.  A revelation at the end, however, transforms the tale from slight comedy to a tale of existential import, divesting both employer and reader with more than a little guilt.

However, some big claims were made by the recommendees …. life-changing?  Comments please!