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An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding by David Hume et al

D >> David Hume et al >> An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding

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AN ENQUIRY CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.

BY DAVID HUME



Extracted from:
Enquiries Concerning the Human Understanding, and Concerning the
Principles of Morals, By David Hume.

Reprinted from The Posthumous Edition of 1777, and Edited with
Introduction, Comparative Tables of Contents, and Analytical Index
by L.A. Selby-Bigge, M.A., Late Fellow of University College, Oxford.

Second Edition, 1902






CONTENTS


I. Of the different Species of Philosophy
II. Of the Origin of Ideas
III. Of the Association of Ideas
IV. Sceptical Doubts concerning the Operations of the Understanding
V. Sceptical Solution of these Doubts
VI. Of Probability
VII. Of the Idea of necessary Connexion
VIII. Of Liberty and Necessity
IX. Of the Reason of Animals
X. Of Miracles
XI. Of a particular Providence and of a future State
XII. Of the academical or sceptical Philosophy



INDEX




SECTION I.

OF THE DIFFERENT SPECIES OF PHILOSOPHY.


1. Moral philosophy, or the science of human nature, may be treated
after two different manners; each of which has its peculiar merit, and
may contribute to the entertainment, instruction, and reformation of
mankind. The one considers man chiefly as born for action; and as
influenced in his measures by taste and sentiment; pursuing one object,
and avoiding another, according to the value which these objects seem to
possess, and according to the light in which they present themselves. As
virtue, of all objects, is allowed to be the most valuable, this species
of philosophers paint her in the most amiable colours; borrowing all
helps from poetry and eloquence, and treating their subject in an easy
and obvious manner, and such as is best fitted to please the
imagination, and engage the affections. They select the most striking
observations and instances from common life; place opposite characters
in a proper contrast; and alluring us into the paths of virtue by the
views of glory and happiness, direct our steps in these paths by the
soundest precepts and most illustrious examples. They make us _feel_ the
difference between vice and virtue; they excite and regulate our
sentiments; and so they can but bend our hearts to the love of probity
and true honour, they think, that they have fully attained the end of
all their labours.

2. The other species of philosophers consider man in the light of a
reasonable rather than an active being, and endeavour to form his
understanding more than cultivate his manners. They regard human nature
as a subject of speculation; and with a narrow scrutiny examine it, in
order to find those principles, which regulate our understanding, excite
our sentiments, and make us approve or blame any particular object,
action, or behaviour. They think it a reproach to all literature, that
philosophy should not yet have fixed, beyond controversy, the foundation
of morals, reasoning, and criticism; and should for ever talk of truth
and falsehood, vice and virtue, beauty and deformity, without being able
to determine the source of these distinctions. While they attempt this
arduous task, they are deterred by no difficulties; but proceeding from
particular instances to general principles, they still push on their
enquiries to principles more general, and rest not satisfied till they
arrive at those original principles, by which, in every science, all
human curiosity must be bounded. Though their speculations seem
abstract, and even unintelligible to common readers, they aim at the
approbation of the learned and the wise; and think themselves
sufficiently compensated for the labour of their whole lives, if they
can discover some hidden truths, which may contribute to the instruction
of posterity.

3. It is certain that the easy and obvious philosophy will always, with
the generality of mankind, have the preference above the accurate and
abstruse; and by many will be recommended, not only as more agreeable,
but more useful than the other. It enters more into common life; moulds
the heart and affections; and, by touching those principles which
actuate men, reforms their conduct, and brings them nearer to that model
of perfection which it describes. On the contrary, the abstruse
philosophy, being founded on a turn of mind, which cannot enter into
business and action, vanishes when the philosopher leaves the shade, and
comes into open day; nor can its principles easily retain any influence
over our conduct and behaviour. The feelings of our heart, the agitation
of our passions, the vehemence of our affections, dissipate all its
conclusions, and reduce the profound philosopher to a mere plebeian.

4. This also must be confessed, that the most durable, as well as
justest fame, has been acquired by the easy philosophy, and that
abstract reasoners seem hitherto to have enjoyed only a momentary
reputation, from the caprice or ignorance of their own age, but have not
been able to support their renown with more equitable posterity. It is
easy for a profound philosopher to commit a mistake in his subtile
reasonings; and one mistake is the necessary parent of another, while he
pushes on his consequences, and is not deterred from embracing any
conclusion, by its unusual appearance, or its contradiction to popular
opinion. But a philosopher, who purposes only to represent the common
sense of mankind in more beautiful and more engaging colours, if by
accident he falls into error, goes no farther; but renewing his appeal
to common sense, and the natural sentiments of the mind, returns into
the right path, and secures himself from any dangerous illusions. The
fame of Cicero flourishes at present; but that of Aristotle is utterly
decayed. La Bruyere passes the seas, and still maintains his reputation:
But the glory of Malebranche is confined to his own nation, and to his
own age. And Addison, perhaps, will be read with pleasure, when Locke
shall be entirely forgotten.

The mere philosopher is a character, which is commonly but little
acceptable in the world, as being supposed to contribute nothing either
to the advantage or pleasure of society; while he lives remote from
communication with mankind, and is wrapped up in principles and notions
equally remote from their comprehension. On the other hand, the mere
ignorant is still more despised; nor is any thing deemed a surer sign of
an illiberal genius in an age and nation where the sciences flourish,
than to be entirely destitute of all relish for those noble
entertainments. The most perfect character is supposed to lie between
those extremes; retaining an equal ability and taste for books, company,
and business; preserving in conversation that discernment and delicacy
which arise from polite letters; and in business, that probity and
accuracy which are the natural result of a just philosophy. In order to
diffuse and cultivate so accomplished a character, nothing can be more
useful than compositions of the easy style and manner, which draw not
too much from life, require no deep application or retreat to be
comprehended, and send back the student among mankind full of noble
sentiments and wise precepts, applicable to every exigence of human
life. By means of such compositions, virtue becomes amiable, science
agreeable, company instructive, and retirement entertaining.

Man is a reasonable being; and as such, receives from science his proper
food and nourishment: But so narrow are the bounds of human
understanding, that little satisfaction can be hoped for in this
particular, either from the extent of security or his acquisitions. Man
is a sociable, no less than a reasonable being: But neither can he
always enjoy company agreeable and amusing, or preserve the proper
relish for them. Man is also an active being; and from that disposition,
as well as from the various necessities of human life, must submit to
business and occupation: But the mind requires some relaxation, and
cannot always support its bent to care and industry. It seems, then,
that nature has pointed out a mixed kind of life as most suitable to the
human race, and secretly admonished them to allow none of these biasses
to _draw_ too much, so as to incapacitate them for other occupations and
entertainments. Indulge your passion for science, says she, but let your
science be human, and such as may have a direct reference to action and
society. Abstruse thought and profound researches I prohibit, and will
severely punish, by the pensive melancholy which they introduce, by the
endless uncertainty in which they involve you, and by the cold reception
which your pretended discoveries shall meet with, when communicated. Be
a philosopher; but, amidst all your philosophy, be still a man.

5. Were the generality of mankind contented to prefer the easy
philosophy to the abstract and profound, without throwing any blame or
contempt on the latter, it might not be improper, perhaps, to comply
with this general opinion, and allow every man to enjoy, without
opposition, his own taste and sentiment. But as the matter is often
carried farther, even to the absolute rejecting of all profound
reasonings, or what is commonly called _metaphysics_, we shall now
proceed to consider what can reasonably be pleaded in their behalf.

We may begin with observing, that one considerable advantage, which
results from the accurate and abstract philosophy, is, its subserviency
to the easy and humane; which, without the former, can never attain a
sufficient degree of exactness in its sentiments, precepts, or
reasonings. All polite letters are nothing but pictures of human life in
various attitudes and situations; and inspire us with different
sentiments, of praise or blame, admiration or ridicule, according to the
qualities of the object, which they set before us. An artist must be
better qualified to succeed in this undertaking, who, besides a delicate
taste and a quick apprehension, possesses an accurate knowledge of the
internal fabric, the operations of the understanding, the workings of
the passions, and the various species of sentiment which discriminate
vice and virtue. How painful soever this inward search or enquiry may
appear, it becomes, in some measure, requisite to those, who would
describe with success the obvious and outward appearances of life and
manners. The anatomist presents to the eye the most hideous and
disagreeable objects; but his science is useful to the painter in
delineating even a Venus or an Helen. While the latter employs all the
richest colours of his art, and gives his figures the most graceful and
engaging airs; he must still carry his attention to the inward structure
of the human body, the position of the muscles, the fabric of the bones,
and the use and figure of every part or organ. Accuracy is, in every
case, advantageous to beauty, and just reasoning to delicate sentiment.
In vain would we exalt the one by depreciating the other.

Besides, we may observe, in every art or profession, even those which
most concern life or action, that a spirit of accuracy, however
acquired, carries all of them nearer their perfection, and renders them
more subservient to the interests of society. And though a philosopher
may live remote from business, the genius of philosophy, if carefully
cultivated by several, must gradually diffuse itself throughout the
whole society, and bestow a similar correctness on every art and
calling. The politician will acquire greater foresight and subtility, in
the subdividing and balancing of power; the lawyer more method and finer
principles in his reasonings; and the general more regularity in his
discipline, and more caution in his plans and operations. The stability
of modern governments above the ancient, and the accuracy of modern
philosophy, have improved, and probably will still improve, by similar
gradations.

6. Were there no advantage to be reaped from these studies, beyond the
gratification of an innocent curiosity, yet ought not even this to be
despised; as being one accession to those few safe and harmless
pleasures, which are bestowed on human race. The sweetest and most
inoffensive path of life leads through the avenues of science and
learning; and whoever can either remove any obstructions in this way, or
open up any new prospect, ought so far to be esteemed a benefactor to
mankind. And though these researches may appear painful and fatiguing,
it is with some minds as with some bodies, which being endowed with
vigorous and florid health, require severe exercise, and reap a pleasure
from what, to the generality of mankind, may seem burdensome and
laborious. Obscurity, indeed, is painful to the mind as well as to the
eye; but to bring light from obscurity, by whatever labour, must needs
be delightful and rejoicing.

But this obscurity in the profound and abstract philosophy, is objected
to, not only as painful and fatiguing, but as the inevitable source of
uncertainty and error. Here indeed lies the justest and most plausible
objection against a considerable part of metaphysics, that they are not
properly a science; but arise either from the fruitless efforts of human
vanity, which would penetrate into subjects utterly inaccessible to the
understanding, or from the craft of popular superstitions, which, being
unable to defend themselves on fair ground, raise these intangling
brambles to cover and protect their weakness. Chaced from the open
country, these robbers fly into the forest, and lie in wait to break in
upon every unguarded avenue of the mind, and overwhelm it with religious
fears and prejudices. The stoutest antagonist, if he remit his watch a
moment, is oppressed. And many, through cowardice and folly, open the
gates to the enemies, and willingly receive them with reverence and
submission, as their legal sovereigns.

7. But is this a sufficient reason, why philosophers should desist from
such researches, and leave superstition still in possession of her
retreat? Is it not proper to draw an opposite conclusion, and perceive
the necessity of carrying the war into the most secret recesses of the
enemy? In vain do we hope, that men, from frequent disappointment, will
at last abandon such airy sciences, and discover the proper province of
human reason. For, besides, that many persons find too sensible an
interest in perpetually recalling such topics; besides this, I say, the
motive of blind despair can never reasonably have place in the sciences;
since, however unsuccessful former attempts may have proved, there is
still room to hope, that the industry, good fortune, or improved
sagacity of succeeding generations may reach discoveries unknown to
former ages. Each adventurous genius will still leap at the arduous
prize, and find himself stimulated, rather that discouraged, by the
failures of his predecessors; while he hopes that the glory of achieving
so hard an adventure is reserved for him alone. The only method of
freeing learning, at once, from these abstruse questions, is to enquire
seriously into the nature of human understanding, and show, from an
exact analysis of its powers and capacity, that it is by no means fitted
for such remote and abstruse subjects. We must submit to this fatigue,
in order to live at ease ever after: And must cultivate true metaphysics
with some care, in order to destroy the false and adulterate. Indolence,
which, to some persons, affords a safeguard against this deceitful
philosophy, is, with others, overbalanced by curiosity; and despair,
which, at some moments, prevails, may give place afterwards to sanguine
hopes and expectations. Accurate and just reasoning is the only catholic
remedy, fitted for all persons and all dispositions; and is alone able
to subvert that abstruse philosophy and metaphysical jargon, which,
being mixed up with popular superstition, renders it in a manner
impenetrable to careless reasoners, and gives it the air of science
and wisdom.

8. Besides this advantage of rejecting, after deliberate enquiry, the
most uncertain and disagreeable part of learning, there are many
positive advantages, which result from an accurate scrutiny into the
powers and faculties of human nature. It is remarkable concerning the
operations of the mind, that, though most intimately present to us, yet,
whenever they become the object of reflexion, they seem involved in
obscurity; nor can the eye readily find those lines and boundaries,
which discriminate and distinguish them. The objects are too fine to
remain long in the same aspect or situation; and must be apprehended in
an instant, by a superior penetration, derived from nature, and improved
by habit and reflexion. It becomes, therefore, no inconsiderable part of
science barely to know the different operations of the mind, to separate
them from each other, to class them under their proper heads, and to
correct all that seeming disorder, in which they lie involved, when made
the object of reflexion and enquiry. This talk of ordering and
distinguishing, which has no merit, when performed with regard to
external bodies, the objects of our senses, rises in its value, when
directed towards the operations of the mind, in proportion to the
difficulty and labour, which we meet with in performing it. And if we
can go no farther than this mental geography, or delineation of the
distinct parts and powers of the mind, it is at least a satisfaction to
go so far; and the more obvious this science may appear (and it is by no
means obvious) the more contemptible still must the ignorance of it be
esteemed, in all pretenders to learning and philosophy.

Nor can there remain any suspicion, that this science is uncertain and
chimerical; unless we should entertain such a scepticism as is entirely
subversive of all speculation, and even action. It cannot be doubted,
that the mind is endowed with several powers and faculties, that these
powers are distinct from each other, that what is really distinct to the
immediate perception may be distinguished by reflexion; and
consequently, that there is a truth and falsehood in all propositions on
this subject, and a truth and falsehood, which lie not beyond the
compass of human understanding. There are many obvious distinctions of
this kind, such as those between the will and understanding, the
imagination and passions, which fall within the comprehension of every
human creature; and the finer and more philosophical distinctions are no
less real and certain, though more difficult to be comprehended. Some
instances, especially late ones, of success in these enquiries, may give
us a juster notion of the certainty and solidity of this branch of
learning. And shall we esteem it worthy the labour of a philosopher to
give us a true system of the planets, and adjust the position and order
of those remote bodies; while we affect to overlook those, who, with so
much success, delineate the parts of the mind, in which we are so
intimately concerned?

9. But may we not hope, that philosophy, if cultivated with care, and
encouraged by the attention of the public, may carry its researches
still farther, and discover, at least in some degree, the secret springs
and principles, by which the human mind is actuated in its operations?
Astronomers had long contented themselves with proving, from the
phaenomena, the true motions, order, and magnitude of the heavenly
bodies: Till a philosopher, at last, arose, who seems, from the happiest
reasoning, to have also determined the laws and forces, by which the
revolutions of the planets are governed and directed. The like has been
performed with regard to other parts of nature. And there is no reason
to despair of equal success in our enquiries concerning the mental
powers and economy, if prosecuted with equal capacity and caution. It is
probable, that one operation and principle of the mind depends on
another; which, again, may be resolved into one more general and
universal: And how far these researches may possibly be carried, it will
be difficult for us, before, or even after, a careful trial, exactly to
determine. This is certain, that attempts of this kind are every day
made even by those who philosophize the most negligently: And nothing
can be more requisite than to enter upon the enterprize with thorough
care and attention; that, if it lie within the compass of human
understanding, it may at last be happily achieved; if not, it may,
however, be rejected with some confidence and security. This last
conclusion, surely, is not desirable; nor ought it to be embraced too
rashly. For how much must we diminish from the beauty and value of this
species of philosophy, upon such a supposition? Moralists have hitherto
been accustomed, when they considered the vast multitude and diversity
of those actions that excite our approbation or dislike, to search for
some common principle, on which this variety of sentiments might depend.
And though they have sometimes carried the matter too far, by their
passion for some one general principle; it must, however, be confessed,
that they are excusable in expecting to find some general principles,
into which all the vices and virtues were justly to be resolved. The
like has been the endeavour of critics, logicians, and even politicians:
Nor have their attempts been wholly unsuccessful; though perhaps longer
time, greater accuracy, and more ardent application may bring these
sciences still nearer their perfection. To throw up at once all
pretensions of this kind may justly be deemed more rash, precipitate,
and dogmatical, than even the boldest and most affirmative philosophy,
that has ever attempted to impose its crude dictates and principles
on mankind.

10. What though these reasonings concerning human nature seem abstract,
and of difficult comprehension? This affords no presumption of their
falsehood. On the contrary, it seems impossible, that what has hitherto
escaped so many wise and profound philosophers can be very obvious and
easy. And whatever pains these researches may cost us, we may think
ourselves sufficiently rewarded, not only in point of profit but of
pleasure, if, by that means, we can make any addition to our stock of
knowledge, in subjects of such unspeakable importance.

But as, after all, the abstractedness of these speculations is no
recommendation, but rather a disadvantage to them, and as this
difficulty may perhaps be surmounted by care and art, and the avoiding
of all unnecessary detail, we have, in the following enquiry, attempted
to throw some light upon subjects, from which uncertainty has hitherto
deterred the wise, and obscurity the ignorant. Happy, if we can unite
the boundaries of the different species of philosophy, by reconciling
profound enquiry with clearness, and truth with novelty! And still more
happy, if, reasoning in this easy manner, we can undermine the
foundations of an abstruse philosophy, which seems to have hitherto
served only as a shelter to superstition, and a cover to absurdity
and error!



SECTION II.

OF THE ORIGIN OF IDEAS.


11. Every one will readily allow, that there is a considerable
difference between the perceptions of the mind, when a man feels the
pain of excessive heat, or the pleasure of moderate warmth, and when he
afterwards recalls to his memory this sensation, or anticipates it by
his imagination. These faculties may mimic or copy the perceptions of
the senses; but they never can entirely reach the force and vivacity of
the original sentiment. The utmost we say of them, even when they
operate with greatest vigour, is, that they represent their object in so
lively a manner, that we could _almost_ say we feel or see it: But,
except the mind be disordered by disease or madness, they never can
arrive at such a pitch of vivacity, as to render these perceptions
altogether undistinguishable. All the colours of poetry, however
splendid, can never paint natural objects in such a manner as to make
the description be taken for a real landskip. The most lively thought is
still inferior to the dullest sensation.

We may observe a like distinction to run through all the other
perceptions of the mind. A man in a fit of anger, is actuated in a very
different manner from one who only thinks of that emotion. If you tell
me, that any person is in love, I easily understand your meaning, and
form a just conception of his situation; but never can mistake that
conception for the real disorders and agitations of the passion. When we
reflect on our past sentiments and affections, our thought is a faithful
mirror, and copies its objects truly; but the colours which it employs
are faint and dull, in comparison of those in which our original
perceptions were clothed. It requires no nice discernment or
metaphysical head to mark the distinction between them.

12. Here therefore we may divide all the perceptions of the mind into
two classes or species, which are distinguished by their different
degrees of force and vivacity. The less forcible and lively are commonly
denominated _Thoughts_ or _Ideas_. The other species want a name in our
language, and in most others; I suppose, because it was not requisite
for any, but philosophical purposes, to rank them under a general term
or appellation. Let us, therefore, use a little freedom, and call them
_Impressions_; employing that word in a sense somewhat different from
the usual. By the term _impression_, then, I mean all our more lively
perceptions, when we hear, or see, or feel, or love, or hate, or desire,
or will. And impressions are distinguished from ideas, which are the
less lively perceptions, of which we are conscious, when we reflect on
any of those sensations or movements above mentioned.

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Stranger than fiction: the true story behind Kidnapped

It is a satirist's dream come true. John Crace looks back over a decade of poking fun at clunky plots and dodgy dialogue

I could be the only person who has never forgotten William Sutcliffe's Love Hexagon. It was the first book I ever digested and I'd like to be able to say I'd spent a lot of time selecting it. But it wasn't like that.

A few days earlier I'd been stopped in the corridor by the new editor of the Editor, the Guardian's standalone digest of the week's news (RIP), and asked if I'd like to take over a little-noticed column called the Digested Read. She wandered off before I had time to answer, but she didn't need to hang around. The ­Digested Read is a dream job for any satirist and I would have done it for almost nothing. Come to think of it, I did. But I still needed to choose a book and as I hadn't yet got the hang of ringing publishers, asking to bite the hand that feeds, I went to see the literary editor, who poked around in her cupboard for something she didn't want. So Love Hexagon it was.

I doubt it's much consolation to Sutcliffe now, but I soon realised it was a poor choice. The Digested Read works best with authors who are getting the most media attention in any given week – be they Ian McEwan, JK Rowling, Nigella Lawson or Katie Price – and since that first week, it is a principle to which I have tried to stick.

It's not infallible. Publishers tend to keep their big names for the spring and summer; in these months there's often too much choice and it can be a straight toss-up between JM Coetzee and AS Byatt. At other times of the year, particularly January, the publishing lists are thin and books squeeze in that normally wouldn't get a reading. It happened once with the brother of a well-known author, a mistake for which I've clearly never been forgiven by the victim; a year ago someone kindly directed me to his blog where he continues to regularly rubbish me seven or eight years on. Books do also just get missed. I never gave The Da Vinci Code a second thought when it came out.

Over the last 10 years, the Digested Read has changed locations several times – from the Editor to the main paper to G2 – but the format has remained the same; rewriting a book in 700 words in the style of the author. The primary goal is to entertain – something the book itself has often failed to do – but it's also intended as a (semi-) serious critique, for much of the fun is derived from clunky plot devices that don't work, pretentious stylistic tics, risible dialogue and an absence of big ideas. Literary criticism does not have to be dull to be serious.

Some people object to its cruelty. I have no defence. Satire often is cruel, especially when it's accurate. Here's the thing. I read every word of every book I digest, scribbling notes on the pages as I go along. I can't afford not to because if I get something wrong, I'm stuffed. So you could argue that I show rather more respect for the integrity of an author's work than a reviewer who gives a book the thumbs up after a skim read. And that does happen. I've read reviews of books I've ­digested and can see the critic has only read the blurb, the first few chapters and the ending. But who cares so long as it's a positive review? Certainly not the author or the publisher. You might, though, if you fork out £10 to buy it.

And many authors do seem to "get" the Digested Read. I'm continually delighted – and astonished – by the number of writers who are more generous about my work than I am about theirs and get in touch to say how much they enjoy the column. Especially when it's someone else's books. Some even email to say they've liked what I've done to their own book. That I don't understand. Publishers are also surprisingly complimentary; some authors would be surprised to discover how much their egotism gets up the noses of their editors and publicists. My favourite compliment is this from the New York Times: "The best book-related feature in any of this planet's English-language newspapers." That will go on my gravestone.

No writer has yet – and I'm not keen for a precedent to be created – emailed to tell me they hate me. It would be nice to imagine this was because they all thought I was so wonderful, but I suspect this is wishful thinking. More likely they are maintaining a dignified ­silence, or have their minds on higher matters.

Not that authors don't have their strops. Jilly Cooper moaned to the Daily Telegraph that I had given away the plot of her book. I hadn't been aware there was one; the ­ending was blindingly obvious from about page 20. One award-winning young author had a complete strop after I digested their partner's book, and threatened never to write for the Guardian again; a threat that hasn't been kept.

One last thing. Sometimes I am asked if I enjoy reading. How could I not? Do you ­really imagine the last 10 years have been an extended exercise in masochism? Especially now that I also digest a classic each week. Few books are as good as their publicity – and it's more often than not the difference between hype and reality I try to exploit – but there haven't been many that have had no redeeming qualities.

Reading is, and remains, a pleasure. As does digesting. Edith Wharton's The Age of Innocence is a great book. It's also great to satirise. The two aren't mutually exclusive. So here's to ­another 10 years digesting. If you'll have me.

A complete archive of John Crace's Digested Reads guardian.co.uk/digestedread


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The greatest Russian writer you've never read

From Huck Finn to Holden Caulfield and Humbert Humbert, the novelist provides an entirely trustworthy guide to some of literature's slipperiest characters

Henry Sutton was born in Norfolk in 1963. After training as a journalist he worked for a number of national newspapers and magazines. He is the author of five previous novels, including Gorleston, Flying and Kids' Stuff, and a collection of short stories, Thong Nation. He also teaches creative writing at UEA and lives in Norwich with his family. His new novel, Get Me Out of Here, is published by Harvill Secker.

Buy Henry Sutton books at the Guardian bookshop

"Something strange happened to unreliable narrators in the mid-20th century: they became a little more reliably unreliable, and a lot nastier. In the late-19th century they tended to be untrustworthy either because they were hiding something about themselves or had failed to recognise the truth, generally because of some kind of psychological weakness. However, as modernism shifted into post-modernism and we all became that much more cynical, most narrators were expected to be complicated. Unreliability became inextricably linked with malevolence – not to mention duplicity, delusion, even derangement. Of course, as the parameters stretched, unreliable narrators also became a lot more fun, with humour often countering the blackness. The challenge was to make tricksy first-person characters both intriguing and entertaining."

1. Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov (1955)

Never straight with himself, let alone the ladies and gentlemen of the jury to whom he is ultimately addressing his words, Humbert Humbert arrived halfway through the 20th century, intent on justifying his appalling crime. Nabokov's syntactical genius is the one true triumph.

2. The Turn Of The Screw by Henry James (1898)

Is it a ghost story, or the tragic tale of a young woman undergoing a breakdown? Believing her two young charges are communing with the spirits of her two dead predecessors, the prim governess of Bly House becomes increasingly panic-stricken and erratic, until she's left with a dead boy in her arms.

3. The Heart Of Darkness by Joseph Conrad (1902)

Right at the start we're told that Marlow likes to spin yarns. However, his tale of journeying up the Congo, in search first of ivory, and then the infamous Kurtz, is one of the most powerful stories in literature. Whether his story is strictly faithful becomes irrelevant, as Marlow ends up highlighting the moral corruption at the heart of all humans.

4. Money by Martin Amis (1984)

John Self is one of literature's most repulsively addictive narrators. The book might be subtitled "A Suicide Note", but it is in fact a love story, with Self dreaming up ever more extravagant ways to shed his wedge while pursuing entirely corruptible Selina Street, among others. The fact that Self might never have actually existed, revealed towards the end, is Amis's sly take on the death of the self.

5. American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis (1991)

Patrick Bateman makes John Self look even more out of shape, when it comes to commenting on the big brands and applying his murderous hands to the unsuspecting and the vulnerable. Yet Ellis's great comment on consumerism and the death of high culture could just be a mirror to our own deluded thoughts, and Bateman nothing more than a sickly funny fantasist.

6. The Killer Inside Me by Jim Thompson (1952)

It was Jim Thompson, not James M Cain, who put the hard into hard-boiled, the noir into roman noir. He was also one of the first crime writers to take us into the heads of seriously twisted killers, if not out-and-out psychopaths. Deputy Sheriff Lou Ford is regarded as a pillar of the small Texan community he serves. Yet he's in possession of a secret he doesn't even admit to himself. When the bodies start to appear, the net slowly tightens.

7. The Catcher in the Rye by JD Salinger (1951)

Classic unreliability when first published in the early 1950s which now looks almost tamely reliable. Of course young Holden Caulfield is anything but clear about what his short, privileged life has already led him to believe – he's a teenager. Naturally everything's phoney, except his beloved sister Phoebe. Though even she is abandoned as Holden loses his fragile grasp on reality.

8. The End Of Alice by AM Homes (1996)

Narrated in the first person by a hyper-intelligent paedophile, and from the third person perspective of a 19-year-old girl with an unhealthy fixation on a much younger boy, Homes's homage to Nabokov didn't just question the nature of desire, but that of literary taste and acceptability. A brutally brave and truly experimental novel that, over here, fell very foul of the Daily Mail.

9. We Need to Talk About Kevin by Lionel Shriver (2003)

Shriver's Orange Prize-winning novel is a postmodern masterclass in unreliability, as the principal theme of nature versus nurture trickles through the slow revelations of exactly what Kevin has done. Told in a series of letters by Kevin's mother, Eva, to her estranged husband, Franklin, the reader is never quite sure of whether it was Eva or Kevin who exhibited the most disturbing behaviour. Franklin, meanwhile, is guilty of chronic denial.

10. The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain (1884)

In his search of freedom, as he floats down the Mississippi, Tom Sawyer's best friend "Huck" Finn finds himself travelling out of his rational mind. First published in 1884, Twain himself described his controversial masterpiece, as "... a book of mine where a sound heart and a deformed conscience come into collision and conscience suffers defeat".


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Diagram prize pits worm hunter's afterthoughts against Nazi spoons

An anti-Stalinist author who died in obscurity in 1951 may be the greatest Russian writer of the last century, his English translator Robert Chandler explains to Daniel Kalder

Stalin called him scum. Sholokhov, Gorky, Pasternak, and Bulgakov all thought he was the bee's knees. But when Andrei Platonov died in poverty, misery and obscurity in 1951, no one would have predicted that within half a century he would be a contender for the title as Russia's greatest 20th-century prose stylist. Indeed, his English translator Robert Chandler thinks Platonov's novel The Foundation Pit is so astonishingly good he translated it twice. Set against a backdrop of industrialisation and collectivisation, The Foundation Pit is fantastical yet realistic, funny yet tragic, profoundly moving and yet disturbing. Daniel Kalder caught up with Chandler to talk about why more people should be reading Platonov.

Why did you translate Platonov's Foundation Pit twice?

No other work of literature means so much to me. I translated it together with Geoffrey Smith in 1994 for the Harvill Press, and again in 2009, together with my wife Elizabeth and the American scholar Olga Meerson, for NYRB Classics. There were two reasons for retranslating it. First, the original text was never published in Platonov's lifetime, and the first posthumous publications – on which our Harvill translation was based – were severely bowdlerised. One crucial three-page passage, for example, is entirely missing.

Second, Platonov is hard to translate: in the early 1990s we were working in the dark. During the last 15 years, however, I have regularly attended Platonov seminars and conferences in Moscow and Petersburg. One indication of how deeply many Russian writers and critics admire him is the extent of their generosity to his translators; I now have a long list of people I can turn to for help. Above all, I have the good fortune to have my wife, who shares my love of Platonov, and the brilliant American scholar, Olga Meerson, as my closest collaborators. Olga was brought up in the Soviet Union; she has a fine ear, knows a great deal about Russian Orthodoxy, and has written an excellent book on Platonov. She has deepened my understanding of almost every sentence.

You've argued that Russians will eventually come to recognise Platonov as their greatest prose writer. Given that he's up against titans such as Gogol, Tolstoy and Chekhov this is quite a claim.

Well, it probably sounds less startling to Russians than it does to English and Americans. I've met a huge number of Russian writers and critics who look on Platonov as their greatest prose writer of the last century. In my personal judgment, it was confirmed for me during the last stages of my work on Russian Short Stories from Pushkin to Buida, an anthology of short stories I compiled for Penguin Classics. I worked on this for several years, did most of the translations myself and revised them many times. I read through the proofs with enjoyment – I was still happy with the choices I had made – but there were only two writers whom I was still able to read with real wonder: Pushkin and Platonov. Even at this late stage I was still able to find new and surprising perceptions in Pushkin's The Queen of Spades and Platonov's The Return. This didn't happen with any other writers. 
 
Readers who encounter Platonov for the first time are often struck by his surreality: in the Foundation Pit, for example, a bear staggers through a village denouncing kulaks [supposedly wealthy peasants]. But you've said that almost everything he writes is drawn from reality.

Platonov's stories work on many levels. When I first read his account of the kulaks being sent off down the river on a raft, I thought of it simply as weird. Then I realised that it's one of many examples of Platonov's way of literally realising a metaphor or political cliché; the official directive is to "liquidate" the peasants – and this unfamiliar word is interpreted as meaning that they must be got rid of by means of water.

Many years later I found out that this scene is also entirely realistic. The Siberian Viktor Astafiev wrote in his memoir: "In spring 1932 all the dispossessed kulaks were collected together, placed on rafts and floated off to Krasnoyarsk, and from there to Igarka. When they started loading the rafts, the whole village gathered together. Everyone wept; it was their own kith and kin who were leaving. One person was carrying mittens, another a bread roll, another a lump of sugar." Any educated Russian reading these lines today would at once imagine that they were written by Platonov.

As for the bear, he's drawn from many sources. He is the generally helpful but somewhat dangerous bear of Russian folk tales; he is a representative of the proletariat – strong but inarticulate. As a hammer in a forge, he is linked both to Stalin, whose name means "man of steel" and to Molotov, whose name means "hammerer". He is the tame bear often employed by a village sorcerer. Platonov's bear "denounces" kulaks by stopping outside a hut and roaring; in the late 1920s an ethnographer working in the province of Kaluga recorded the belief that "a clean home, outside which a bear stops of his own accord, not going in but refusing to budge – that home is an unhappy home". And one of Platonov's brothers has written that there really was a tame bear who worked in a local blacksmith's.

Platonov started off as a committed communist, but was appalled by collectivisation and the excesses of Stalinism. Uniquely – unlike others who adopted an oppositional stance, or wrote critiques for the desk drawer – he tried to negotiate a space within Soviet culture in which he could write honestly about what was going on. Is it fair to say that he failed?

I don't think so. Some of the stories he managed to publish – The River Potudan, The Third Son and The Return – are as great, in their more compact and classical way, as the novels he was unable to publish. The Return was viciously criticised, but it was published in a journal with a huge circulation and may well have been read by hundreds of thousands of people. And there is no knowing how important Platonov's example was to younger writers. Vasily Grossman, for example, was a close friend. They met frequently during Platonov's last years and read their work out loud to each other. Grossman gave the main speech at Platonov's funeral. His last stories are very Platonov-like. And Platonov's very last work – the moving, witty versions of Russian folk tales he composed after the war – was included, without acknowledgment, in millions of school textbooks. Platonov was not widely known, but he was widely read. Here again he is in a similar position to Grossman, whose words are carved in granite, in huge letters, on the Stalingrad war memorial, without acknowledgment of his authorship.

Platonov's language is often extremely intimate yet also strange: alienated and alienating. Is he exceptionally difficult to translate? And does he sound more "normal" in the original than in translation?

He is certainly difficult to translate. On the other hand, I've sometimes been surprised by how much of him evidently survives even in a poor translation. I've met people who have been deeply moved after first encountering him in a very poor translation indeed. As for your second question, you need to ask someone who is entirely bilingual and not involved in the work. All I can say myself is that all languages have norms that can be infringed, and that we do our best to infringe English norms just as Platonov infringes Russian norms. It is for you and other readers to judge how much we have succeeded!
 
Sometimes I think you have a secret plan to steer readers away from familiar authors such as Chekhov towards more angular, difficult work such as Platonov, thus reshaping perceptions of 20th-century Russian literature.
 
Well, I'd put it at least a little differently! I love Chekhov's stories as much as anyone, and would especially love to translate The Steppe and A Boring Story. But then Chekhov isn't so very easy or smooth either, though many of his complexities and contradictions are smoothed over in translation. What's certainly true is that I think we have a distorted view of Soviet literature. For many decades it was impossible for a Soviet writer to achieve fame in the west except through a major international scandal. This is what happened with both Pasternak and Solzhenitsyn. Both are important writers, but they are not greater writers than Grossman, Platonov and Shalamov.

Things are changing, however. Grossman is far better known in the west now than he was 10 years ago. Platonov is at least beginning to be noticed – Penelope Fitzgerald and John Berger are two of the English writers who have been quickest to realise his genius. And there is a chance that the Yale University Press will soon be commissioning a complete translation of Shalamov's Kolyma Tales. One more point: we have found it easier in the west to learn to appreciate the 20th-century writers who wrote from outside the Soviet experience. Bulgakov reached adulthood long before the revolution. He was never taken in by it; he looks down on everything Soviet. Grossman, Platonov and Shalamov, however, belong to a generation 10 to 20 years younger. All of them, at least for a while and to some degree, shared the hopes of the revolution. They write from inside the Soviet experience. This perhaps gives them a greater depth and complexity; their work contains no ready-made answers.

• Robert Chandler's new co-translation (in collaboration with his wife and Olga Meerson) of The Foundation Pit will be published in the UK by Vintage Classics later this year.   
 


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