In Huckleberry Finn we have the soul of America’s fears and — especially — its desires. To be like Huck, an unlucky lad but still luckier than unlucky; healthy and smoking cigars without a care in the world, unemployed and yet never hungry or miserable, living a life of adventure, too young to understand much about global problems (like racism), just a pirate living on stolen money. Ah, that’s the life, America, the World — that’s the vision Mark Twain gave us over a century ago. It wasn’t just a portrait of desire, it was a prophetic portrait, as today, more than ever, we live among pirates. I do not speak of Somali pirates who teach us small lessons about human nature, I speak of the revolutionary lessons about white collar criminals taught by submarine monsters who finagle entire countries into penury. Huckleberry Finn is not primarily about racism, it is, first and foremost, a book about money, deceit, hucksters, hecklers and fin-agling. Though I have savored Twain’s humor, one cannot read this book without tasting his vomit too, for it is no pretty portrait he painted.
Oh, it’s hard not to envy Huck Finn’s fishy life, all fins and free in the Mississippi.
