Along with the melancholy literature of England, I loved the lighter wit too, from books and movies, modern and medieval. I learned the powers of satire and irony from British writers. I learned that when things in the world seem too horrid to be true, too imbalanced or unjust, one option is to laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of it. I learned that maybe, making fun of the truly obscene diffuses the power of it for a moment, or reminds us, hopefully, not to repeat the same behavior.
My brothers and I watched every Monty Python film, memorizing lines and mimicking the actors’ accents. We loved the campiness, all the goofy knights. We loved the scenery, all the castles, bridges, and forests.
We were brought up Catholic, and like many (though not all) Catholics, we questioned and joked about our religion and culture. I don’t look at this as irreverence. I think it’s healthy to keep yourself humble. Arrogance leads to scary things. I learned from my British friends that it is part of their culture to poke fun lovingly. The expression is to “take the piss out of someone.” Graham Chapman, John Cleese, Terry Gilliam, Eric Idle, Terry Jones, and Michael Palin, I tip my imaginary top hat to you, funny sirs. You have certainly nudged us well. Thank you for your smart humor.
And to Geoffrey Chaucer, thank you for The Canterbury Tales. When I read the Wife of Bath’s story in high school, it resonated with me on all kinds of levels. I did not yet call myself a feminist, but I was walking around talking about Mary Magdalen and Hester Prynne as my heroines. So when I found another unapologetic, whip-smart woman in literature, and another man writing a character this way, I paid attention.
Rather than summarize the Wife’s story here, I will instead mention how my favorite high school English teacher hooked us to actually like a fourteenth century writer. It was simple, and as I recall, she did this a lot. She read aloud. Ah…reading aloud…such a pretty thing. Mrs. Gordon had a beautiful Southern accent, and combined with Middle English, this produced a memorable music for me. She sang:
Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote
The droghte of Marche hath perced to the roote
And bathed every veyne in swich licour
Of which vertu engendred is the flour
…and I was hooked. The language was familiar, yet foreign, a beautiful puzzle for me to put together.
