The Canterbury Tales

I read this book in an attempt to better my repertoire… it’s one of those classics that I just know nothing about. (I can only miss the answer on Jeopardy! so many times before I’ll finally cave and read the book.) So, I read this “new modern English prose translation” of the original Ye Olde English tale.

The premise is this: a big ol’ bunch of people are wandering around the countryside going on some pilgrimage. Some holy pilgrimage, that’s important. Because they’re all very religious and pious, and are on their way to pay homage to the guy who wove the shroud of Turin or something like that. So on the way to their holy whatever, all these people who were strangers but met up because they were on the same road to somewhere, decided to entertain each other by telling each other tales. Everybody had to tell a tale. And everybody did. Nice tales. Really fun tales. Tales, tales, tales.

As religious as these people had to be to be embarking upon this holy journey, they sure seemed to enjoy some bawdy tales. It reminded me of when I go to my Amish family reunions… here we have a group of people joined together, nay, defined by their religion, and for some reason the only punch lines that are really satisfying to them are either about sex or shit. And I know it’s uncharacteristic of me to just toss out the word “shit,” but it’s not casual this time- the joke has to actually be about “shit,” not “manure” or “poop” or “defecatory products.” Maybe “turd.” But you just don’t know funny until you see a sweet little old white-haired Amish lady tell a joke where she gets to end with the word “shit” and giggles guiltily. It sounds like this: “shitee-hee-tee-hee!” Anyway, I’m lingering on that a little too long. And besides, it’s not exactly true. The Amish find farting really funny too.

So anyway, back to The Canterbury Tales and why they reminded me of the Amish. Like I said, these tale-tellers were rough in their subject manner. It seemed to me that at least (if not more than) every other tale was either some sordid story about illicit sex or adultery, or culminated in a hi-laaaaar-ious climax of pooting in the puss. (And for those of you who think I am just being as crude as I possibly can with my language this time, shame on you. Many words have more than one meaning, and you should endeavor to learn them all. I’m not that dirty.)

Don’t believe me? Fine. Let me give you some examples, and at the same time let’s talk about some of that “new modern English prose.” Some of my favorite quotes that illustrate my point:

From page 71: “She thrust her ass out the window. Absalom, knowing no better, kissed it enthusiastically before he realized the trick. He jumped back and thought something was wrong, for he knew very well that a woman has no beard. He felt something rough and hairy and said, ‘Fie, what have I done?’” Fie. Very modern. And classy, I might add.

Luckily Absalom got his, but had to smooch another tush to get it, as on page 73: “So Nicholas quickly raised the window and thrust his ass far out. Then the clerk Absalom said, ‘Speak, sweet bird, I do not know where you are.’ At this Nicholas let fly a fart with a noise as great as a clap of thunder, so that Absalom was almost overcome by the force of it. But he was ready with his hot iron and he smote Nicholas in the middle of his ass.” I think the only thing smote was my mind’s eye for having to picture this lovely scene.

From page 132: “To speak plainly, to be brief, your filthy rhyming is not worth a turd!” Guess that tale-teller should have worked up his pentameter.

From page 195: “But when the sick man felt the friar groping here and there round his hole, he broke wind in the middle of the friar’s hand; there is no nag driving a cart that could have broke wind so loudly.” Nice job. Takes a good man to put a horse to shame.

Same page: “By God’s bones, you have done this on purpose out of spite! You shall regret this fart, if I can arrange it!” Well, that’s a relief. You don’t want someone walking around proud of their toot.

Page 197, the happy conclusion of that particular tale: “Who could make a demonstration of how every man should have an equal share of the sound or odor of a fart?” … “The rumbling of a fart, like every sound, is but the reverberation of air which decreases, little by little. There is no man who can judge, by my faith, if it is equally divided.” Thank goodness we got that figured out.

Whew. One can certainly understand how this book found itself entrenched deep in the annals of literary fame. I mean, how could we as readers NOT honor the book that explored and solved the equation of the physical dissolution of wayward butt eekage? This is truly a classic. I think I’ll read it again.