John Pistelli offers a rare, unapologetic defense of literary difficulty, arguing that the true measure of American greatness lies not in a single masterpiece but in the sustained weight of a complete body of work. In an era obsessed with viral moments and singular hits, he challenges the very concept of the "Great American Novel" as a trap that often excludes women and elevates style over substance, proposing instead a canon defined by the enduring complexity of authors like Henry James and Toni Morrison.
The Trap of the Single Masterpiece
Pistelli begins by dismantling the popular obsession with ranking a single "Great American Novel." He notes that the category, first proposed by John William De Forest in 1868 to reflect the "American soul," has historically functioned as a curse rather than a crown. "Writing one puts a curse on the author's oeuvre," Pistelli writes, noting that while writers like Melville and Fitzgerald are remembered for one book, their broader contributions are often ignored. This framing is compelling because it shifts the focus from a consumer-friendly list to a deeper appreciation of artistic evolution.
He argues that the search for a single great book tends to favor "masculinism," where women are either excluded or serve merely as boundary markers for male heroes. "The category also tends to attract a certain masculinism, with women almost wholly excluded, except as marking the boundary line to the civilization from which the heroes are in flight," he observes. This is a sharp critique of how literary history is often curated. However, critics might argue that dismissing the "Great American Novel" as a concept entirely risks losing the cultural touchstone that allows for broad public engagement with literature. Not every masterpiece needs a sprawling career to be transformative.
The greatest American novelists, then, are Hawthorne, James, Faulkner, Cather, and Morrison.
By elevating authors who wrote multiple masterpieces, Pistelli redefines the canon around endurance. He points out that while Harriet Beecher Stowe's Uncle Tom's Cabin was the first proposed Great American Novel, the rest of her work remains unread. In contrast, he champions the oeuvres of James, Faulkner, and Morrison, where the debate is not about if they wrote a great book, but which of their many great books is the greatest.
The Political Paradox of Modernism
The commentary takes a darker turn as Pistelli examines the uncomfortable political legacies of literary giants. He refuses to sanitize the past, focusing on Gertrude Stein's controversial support for the Vichy regime and her praise of Adolf Hitler. "In May 1934... Gertrude Stein had something new to say about the idea of international peace: 'Hitler should have received the Nobel Peace Prize... because he is removing all elements of contest and of struggle from Germany,'" Pistelli quotes, highlighting the bluntness of her original words in the New York Times.
Pistelli navigates this by suggesting that Stein's comments were a mix of genuine conviction and provocative irony, a strategy to "shock them out of their habitual ways of thinking." He writes, "Stein probably wanted her audience to respond in both ways... Yet there is also a strong element of conviction and intentionality in what she says." This nuanced approach acknowledges the horror of the era without dismissing the complexity of the artist. It forces the reader to confront the fact that revolutionary aesthetics can coexist with reactionary politics.
He extends this analysis to other modernists, noting that figures like T.S. Eliot and Ezra Pound shared similar blind spots. "A vision with which James, Wharton, Eliot, Pound, Hemingway, Fitzgerald, and even Stein might have agreed," he writes regarding the nostalgic, often exclusionary view of indigenous cultures. This is a bold move, refusing to let the art completely absolve the artist. A counterargument worth considering is that focusing so heavily on these political failings might distract from the formal innovations that made these writers essential to the canon in the first place.
The Complexity of History and Progress
Pistelli further complicates the narrative by revisiting Christopher Hitchens's controversial defense of Columbus, a piece written from a leftist perspective that celebrated the "epoch of opportunity and innovation" brought by colonization. He quotes Hitchens's assertion that "the transformation of part of the northern part of this continent into 'America' inaugurated a nearly boundless epoch of opportunity and innovation, and thus deserves to be celebrated with great vim and gusto." Pistelli uses this to illustrate the difficulty of holding two contradictory truths: the reality of genocide and the undeniable spread of modernity.
He suggests that we must confront this "actual complexity of the question" rather than retreating into simplistic narratives. "I do wish people would confront the actual complexity of the question," he writes, arguing that history is rarely a clean moral victory. This section serves as a reminder that literary criticism cannot be separated from the messy, often brutal realities of history. While some may find the defense of colonization's "enlightenment" aspects uncomfortable, Pistelli's point is that ignoring the contradictions leads to a shallow understanding of the past.
We don't need to search out any esoterica; the strangest books are the ones we already own; we just haven't read them yet.
Bottom Line
Pistelli's strongest argument is his rejection of the "Great American Novel" as a singular, static object, replacing it with a dynamic view of literary greatness rooted in the depth of an author's entire career. His biggest vulnerability lies in his willingness to engage with the darkest political views of beloved authors, a stance that risks alienating readers who prefer to separate art from the artist. Ultimately, the piece demands a reader who is willing to grapple with the full, often contradictory, weight of the literary canon.