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MTMark Twain

Mark Twain

Life dates: 1835 AD — 1910 AD

Huck’s own narration exposes conflicts between learned rules and lived friendship. Read his complaint about the widow beside his struggle over helping Jim, keeping the boy’s voice distinct from a direct instruction by Twain.

▷ Play this voiceSearch these words ↗Place in time ↗lovelifefriendshipdeathtimefaithjusticeknowledge

Life and writing

The catalogue identifies Mark Twain with lifetime years 1835–1910, credits E. W. Kemble as illustrator and David Widger for the electronic text. The checked English edition presents Huck’s first-person narration with distinctive grammar. That wording remains unchanged in the archive. Its HTML ISBN identifies this digital edition; a print publisher and passage composition dates are not established by the catalogue’s electronic release or update dates.

In Chapter I, Huck complains that the widow rejects smoking while taking snuff herself. His account reveals a perceived inconsistency; it does not establish a health claim about tobacco. In Chapter XXXI, he struggles with a racist teaching that helping Jim escape enslavement is sinful, and finds that his attempted prayer does not express his actual intention. Both selected extracts match the checked text under limited normalization. The ethical conflict needs its surrounding narrative, rather than a detached religious rule attributed directly to Twain.

Reading this voice

Read Huck’s account in Chapter I and his decision in Chapter XXXI with the surrounding action. Attend to who has taught the rules he repeats and what his friendship with Jim makes him question. The historical text contains racist language; its narrative context remains essential.

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Quotations and sayings

15c. 1872 AD
I lost Susy thirteen years ago; I lost her mother--her incomparable mother!--five and a half years ago; Clara has gone away to live in Europe and now I have lost Jean. How poor I am, who was once so rich! . . . Jean lies yonder, I sit here; we are strangers under our own roof; we kissed hands good-by at this door last night--and it was forever, we never suspecting it. She lies there, and I sit here--writing, busying myself, to keep my heart from breaking. How dazzling the sunshine is flooding the hills around! It is like a mockery. Seventy-four years ago twenty-four days. Seventy-four years old yesterday. Who can estimate my age today?
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21c. 1872 AD
A man who is not born with the novel-writing gift has a troublesome time of it when he tries to build a novel. I know this from experience. He has no clear idea of his story; in fact he has no story. He merely has some people in his mind, and an incident or two, also a locality, and he trusts he can plunge those people into those incidents with interesting results. So he goes to work. To write a novel? No--that is a thought which comes later; in the beginning he is only proposing to tell a little tale, a very little tale, a six-page tale. But as it is a tale which he is not acquainted with, and can only find out what it is by listening as it goes along telling itself, it is more than apt to go on and on and on till it spreads itself into a book. I know about this, because it has happened to me so many times.
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