For a long time, I’ve been interested in the genesis and evolution of the modern fantasy genre; to that end, there are several books on my reading list which I’ve seen described as being in some way foundational to the genre’s development, including some we’ve reviewed before, like Castle Otranto and The Worm Ouroboros. Jurgen: A Comedy of Justice made the list for the same reason. It was published in 1919, faced significant controversy in its day which helped in no small way to popularize it, and it pursues a notion not dissimilar from that which underlies classics like Narnia, Phantastes, and even Divine Comedy. All these stories involve a kind of incidental journey into a world of myth and magic, but Jurgen is markedly different in tone.
It is entirely irreverent and unserious. Not in the way of something like a Pratchett novel, which are comedic and sometimes silly in certain respects, but which have heart and substance to go alongside, but in a way that gives the whole text an air of the author thumbing his nose. Though it’s often praised for its prose, I did not find the language or rhetoric remarkable, and the story itself was odd. There’s a “plot,” in the sense that Jurgen goes on his journey ostensibly to find his wandering wife, but he has even less focus on this supposed objective than the protagonist of The Palm Wine Drinkard has on his. In fairness, I think the protagonist of the latter probably cares more about his palm-wine tapster than Jurgen cares about his wife.
Instead, Jurgen wanders about from one myth to another in philandering fashion, relying on unearned talents or magic to gain unearned rewards, while repeating a refrain about how he is far wiser and more just than anyone else, alongside being an excellent poet, lover, and pawnbroker. Remember Covenant’s eternal refrain of “leper-outcast-unclean,” and his often boorish or reprehensible behavior? Covenant is an example of an antihero, and Jurgen reminds me of him, but Jurgen is not even an antihero. He’s just an example of an unlikable protagonist, in this case one who is thoroughly entitled, entirely unreflective, and deeply misogynistic. Reading him will, and probably should, leave you uncomfortable.
To be clear, none of these factors by themselves would make Jurgen a “bad” book, and alone they would not have led me to give up on it less than halfway through, as I ultimately did. It is the combination of an unsympathetic narrator, no meaningful plot progression, unremarkable rhetoric, and unserious approach which led me to abandon the text. Perhaps, if I’d persevered, Jurgen would have undergone some deeply moving character arc and learnt self-reflection, or maybe the plot would have started advancing in a meaningful and purposeful fashion, but by almost halfway into the book, there is little indication this will be the case. I’m not actually certain why it’s received so much praise and attention, other than the controversies it stirs.
Those controversies all seem to revolve around Jurgen’s philandering ways. Most of the book involves him bouncing from one myth to another and inevitably seducing someone (at least one someone) in each setting. Usually, the someone is an important woman in some capacity, from the future wife of King Arthor to Satan’s spouse. Not long after its publication, there were several efforts made to ban it because of this amoral content, which failed, mostly because Cabell is careful never to be explicit about the acts themselves. The implication is there for all to read, such that even I (famously naïve and oblivious in such matters) can pick up on them, but since it’s not actually spelled out on the page, the argument goes that the “perversions” are purely in the puerile minds of the readers.
Of all things, it actually reminds me of The Divine Comedy: there’s a journey through mythical/religious worlds inspired by love, with a great many mythological references, and opportunities for the author to enact allegorical judgement on his rivals and adversaries (Dante commits popes and political rivals to various levels of the Inferno, and Cabell turns his would-be book banners into dung beetles). Jurgen lacks the deep insight and compelling language of Dante, though, and comes across as unimaginative and frankly unimpressive. I certainly don’t think it needs to be banned (and by modern standards its formerly controversial sections are probably downright prudish), but I also don’t think it’s worth taking the time to read.
IGC Publishing 