Edward FitzGerald (1) (1809–1883)

When people say a book is difficult to read they normally mean there is something intrinsically challenging about the text. Ulysses is difficult because, well, it's by James Joyce; The Tale of Genji is difficult because there are five hundred characters spanning half a century, and no one has a name. But this edition of Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám is the first book I've read that was difficult to read from a purely mechanical point of view.

After the book's thorough and interesting show more introduction we come to the reproduction of the original book. FitzGerald didn't want to ruin the text of the poem with footnotes, so uses endnotes, marked out by numeric superscripts. So far so good. Daniel Karlin, this edition's editor, wants to respect FitzGerald's wishes so also omits footnotes and moreover omits any superscripts to inform the reader of the presence of one of his endnotes. So now not only does the reader need to mark three pages simultaneously, the poem, FitzGerald's endnotes, and Karlin's end-endnotes, but also he must keep flicking to the latter of the three in case Karlin has just pointed out something useful. (In fact for the full experience one should mark a fourth set of pages where variants are included for each stanza from the five different editions of FitzGerald's work.)

Having virtually dislocated my fingers after three stanzas in order to keep up with this merry charade I felt obliged to utter a playground epithet pointing out that this style of reading was a poor substitute for a game of soliders. And so I gave up on Karlin's end-endnotes and made do with Fitzgerald's, referring to Karlin's only if something I really didn't understand came up. And then I re-read the poem using Karlin's notes rather than Fitzgerald's. And then I read the variant stanzas, and the intriguing appendices. Suffice it to that once I figured out how to read the book I really did enjoy it. show less

When people say a book is difficult to read they normally mean there is something intrinsically challenging about the text. Ulysses is difficult because, well, it's by James Joyce; The Tale of Genji is difficult because there are five hundred characters spanning half a century, and no one has a name. But this edition of Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám is the first book I've read that was difficult to read from a purely mechanical point of view.

After the book's thorough and interesting show more introduction we come to the reproduction of the original book. FitzGerald didn't want to ruin the text of the poem with footnotes, so uses endnotes, marked out by numeric superscripts. So far so good. Daniel Karlin, this edition's editor, wants to respect FitzGerald's wishes so also omits footnotes and moreover omits any superscripts to inform the reader of the presence of one of his endnotes. So now not only does the reader need to mark three pages simultaneously, the poem, FitzGerald's endnotes, and Karlin's end-endnotes, but also he must keep flicking to the latter of the three in case Karlin has just pointed out something useful. (In fact for the full experience one should mark a fourth set of pages where variants are included for each stanza from the five different editions of FitzGerald's work.)

Having virtually dislocated my fingers after three stanzas in order to keep up with this merry charade I felt obliged to utter a playground epithet pointing out that this style of reading was a poor substitute for a game of soliders. And so I gave up on Karlin's end-endnotes and made do with Fitzgerald's, referring to Karlin's only if something I really didn't understand came up. And then I re-read the poem using Karlin's notes rather than Fitzgerald's. And then I read the variant stanzas, and the intriguing appendices. Suffice it to that once I figured out how to read the book I really did enjoy it. show less

FitzGerald's Rubáiyát = 5⭐

Euphranor is an earlier work taking the form of a Platonic dialogue one day in late spring in Cambridge between a doctor and several young students while they drink beer and play bowls. It's a reply to a popular book of the 1850s on the proper education of English manhood which, little known today, set the tone for a certain kind of Stiff Upper Lipped Englishness that inspired the Scout movement and running towards machine gun fire armed with a stick, and show more pertains today amongst the Eton Set, Daily Mail readers, and those who still pine for the British Empire. FitzGerald, as far as I can make out, wasn't a fan. The polemic, good natured as it was, I could have done without, but the characters and setting were really appealing, and it's a great loss that FitzGerald never wrote a novel.

Sáláman and Absál is FitzGerald's translation of 14th century Persian Sufi poet, Jámí's, allegory of the soul's enlightenment. That he uses the metaphor of female sexual allure corrupting masculine purity and nobility doesn't read well in the 21st century. It was a bit of a slog, to be honest, but not without some beautiful images, and I learned something of the legend of Alexander's Mirror, which allowed the Great emperor to view far-off lands and communicate with people there, which was interesting. Overall rating 4 ⭐ show less

Having read several other editions of the Rubáiyát, this is the first time I've read one with FitzGerald's foreword and his notes, which added much to the experience this time around.

I was not previously aware of the debate regarding the possibility of reading Khayyám's frequent references to wine as literal (how I'd previously read it) or as a metaphor for divinity. Interestingly, having introduced me to the debate, FitzGerald comes down firmly on the literalist side. Nevertheless, I've show more enjoyed reading this one with the metaphor in mind and it will inform future readings. I understand FitzGerald's position, though, as not all of the stanzas lend themselves to a mystical rendition, however that could be due either to his translation or my own lack of spiritual knowledge.

However that may be, this remains my favourite book of poetry (admittedly out of a relatively limited exposure to verse). show less