A Tale of a Tub

"There are certain common privileges of a writer, the benefit whereof I hope there will be no reason to doubt; particularly, that where I am not understood, it shall be concluded that something very useful and profound is couched underneath; and again, that whatever word or sentence is printed in a different character shall be judged to contain something extraordinary either of wit or sublime."

Ah, I too would like to have that common privilege.

The sage to whom I owe that witty and sublime profound thought is Jonathan Swift, in A Tale of a Tub, a tome which has much in it worthy of commendation to those who have not yet perused said tome, and perhaps even much worthy of commendation to those who have previously read it, it, in this case, being a Great Book, and thus, by presumption, worthy of being read on Diverse and Multiple Occasions.  It will cause no Wonder to the Reader to Discover that Your Humble Narrator has become enamored with a book whose author states in the Conclusion:
"I am now trying an experiment very frequent among modern authors, which is to write upon nothing, when the subject is utterly exhausted to let the pen still move on; by some called the ghost of wit, delighting to walk after the death of its body."
The only wonder is that Your Humble Narrator had not read this book before now.

In between the first quoted material, found in a preface and the second quoted material, found (as noted earlier) in the conclusion, there is, in part, a tale of three brothers, Peter, Martin and Jack.  Peter bears a striking resemblance to a particular Church centered in Rome, Martin bears a strong resemblance to an established Church which has broken off from the Church at Rome, and Jack, well Jack is much akin to the assorted and sundry churches of Presbyterian (and, maybe even, dare I say it, Baptist) Affiliation.  All three brothers squabble endlessly over a coat bequeathed to them by their Father, said coat resembling a Book of Some Note.  By the time the Brothers are Done with it, said coat bears little resemblance to its original form.  Martin comes off the best in the book, which may not be surprising given that it is widely rumored that the author of this tome (published anonymously, of course) was a Dean in the Church of Ireland.

That tale is a nicely done satire, but it is not the tale itself which was most charming to Your Humble Narrator.  It was the Digressions.  And, wonder of wonders, the chapter title to End all chapter titles, the veritable summa of chapter titles, a gift to the world of Chapter Titles which can only have come from Holy Inspiration, this book contains Section VII, entitled:

A Digression in Praise of Digressions

And the content of that chapter with such a marvelous title--well, the author digresses from the topic promised in the chapter title.

For reasons Obvious to even a cursory perusor of the musings on this blog, this tale of a tub was a subject of great Diversion and Amusement for the author of these musings.  But, the Reader impatiently asks, will this tome be of interest to anyone who is not as enamored with absurd prose masking a lack of thought in service of digressions serving no purpose other than allowing the author to construct sentences whose opaqueness is only exceeded by the lack of content contained therein?

Truth be Told (always a Noble Act): It isn't nearly as good as Gulliver's Travels or A Modest Proposal, but on the whole, it is well worth reading.