Tuesday, February 27, 2018














Recently we acquired a first edition printing of Fables in Slang by George Ade, published in 1899.  The stories in this collection are so entertaining, so over-the-top, that we decided to share a few of them with you.

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George Ade is often compared to Mark Twain.  Both men were born in the Midwest in the 19th century and wrote for newspapers as young men.  Gifted with wit and humor, the two authors enjoyed long and celebrated careers.  However, while Mark Twain’s books are still in wide circulation, the works of George Ade are not as well known today.  Nevertheless, George is finding a new audience among 21st century readers due to his gently satirical – and timeless -- take on life and relationships.

Released in 1899, Fables in Slang became a bestseller.  One of the first things I noticed about the stories is that George capitalized many nouns, and sometimes verbs, for no apparent reason.  This peculiar habit adds to the silliness of the stories.

George also had an efficient and quirky way of describing characters and their predicaments, in a few, quick strokes of the pen.  

Here is an example from…

THE FABLE OF THE SLIM GIRL WHO TRIED TO KEEP A DATE

THAT WAS NEVER MADE

Once upon a Time there was a slim Girl with a Forehead which was Shiny and Protuberant, like a Bartlett Pear. When asked to put Something in an Autograph Album she invariably wrote the Following, in a tall, dislocated Back-Hand:

"Life is Real; life is Earnest,
And the Grave is not its Goal."


That's the kind of a Girl she was.
In her own Town she had the Name of being a Cold Proposition, but that was because the Primitive Yokels could not Attune Themselves to the Views of one who was troubled with Ideals. Her Soul Panted for the Higher Life.
Alas, the Rube Town in which she Hung Forth was given over to Croquet, Mush and Milk Sociables, a lodge of Elks and two married Preachers who doctored for the Tonsilitis. So what could the Poor Girl do?
In all the Country around there was not a Man who came up to her Plans and Specifications for a Husband. Neither was there any Man who had any time for Her. So she led a lonely Life, dreaming of the One—the Ideal. He was a big and pensive Literary Man, wearing a Prince Albert coat, a neat Derby Hat and godlike Whiskers. When He came he would enfold Her in his Arms and whisper Emerson's Essays to her.
But the Party failed to show up.

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George Ade wrote these fables during the Industrial Revolution.  People were leaving farms and small towns and moving to big cities.  In this era, women gained more independence, education increased in importance, and opportunities to build fortunes abounded.  George’s writing reflects this dramatic change in the American way of life.

His stories are typically short and energetic.  Just as they’re getting started, suddenly they’re over.   Perhaps our great-great-grandparents liked their entertainment in short sound bites, just as we do today.  In the tradition of Aesop’s Fables, George tacked a moral onto the end of each story.  The moral might make sense…and then again, it might not.  

Most of the stories flow very well, considering how long ago George wrote them.  The American English language has evolved just in the past decade; imagine the changes wrought by nearly 120 years!  It’s inevitable that some of his references are a tad obscure, so the modern reader has to interpret the author’s meaning from the context of the sentence, the paragraph, and the entire story.  These fables are therefore like a game, a verbal maze with twists and turns.  

The next story I would like to share with you is about an obsessive baseball fan.  Considering that baseball was invented only about fifty years before this story was written, the sport already had loyal, rowdy fans who could talk about nothing else.  

And now…

THE FABLE OF THE BASE BALL FAN 

WHO TOOK THE ONLY KNOWN CURE


Once upon a Time a Base Ball Fan lay on his Death-Bed.
He had been a Rooter from the days of Underhand Pitching.
It was simply Pie for him to tell in what year Anse began to play with the Rockfords and what Kelly's Batting Average was the Year he sold for Ten Thousand.
If you asked him who played Center for Boston in 1886 he could tell you quick—right off the Reel. And he was a walking Directory of all the Glass Arms in the Universe.
More than once he had let drive with a Pop Bottle at the Umpire and then yelled "Robber" until his Pipes gave out. For many Summers he would come Home, one Evening after Another, with his Collar melted, and tell his Wife that the Giants made the Colts look like a lot of Colonial Dames playing Bean Bag in a Weedy Lot back of an Orphan Asylum, and they ought to put a Trained Nurse on Third, and the Dummy at Right needed an Automobile, and the New Man couldn't jump out of a Boat and hit the Water, and the Short-Stop wouldn't be able to pick up a Ball if it was handed to him on a Platter with Water Cress around it, and the Easy One to Third that ought to have been Sponge Cake was fielded like a One-Legged Man with St. Vitus dance trying to do the Nashville Salute.
Of course she never knew what he was Talking about, but she put up with it, Year after Year, mixing Throat Gargle for him and reading the Games to him when he was having his Eyes tested and had to wear a Green Shade.
At last he came to his Ninth Inning and there were Two Strikes called and no Balls, and his Friends knew it was All Day with him. They stood around and tried to forget that he was a Fan. His Wife wept softly and consoled herself with the Thought that possibly he would have amounted to Something if there had been no National Game. She forgave Everything and pleaded for one Final Message. His Lips moved. She leaned over and Listened. He wanted to know if there was Anything in the Morning Papers about the Condition of Bill Lange's Knee.
Moral: There is a Specific Bacillus for every Classified Disease.


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