To call him a great American is to limit him. He is a citizen of the world, read in every country, more American than anyone else, yet more critical of his country than most. I will never forget how mother read Tom Sawyer to me in German, in a park in Montevideo, Uruguay, when I was only nine, and how I couldn't stop laughing at the funny way the characters talked. I was convulsed with laughter, one of the first big laughing fits of my life. Alas, as I grew up, I lost interest in fiction. But Twain is more than a writer. He is a character with flaws and all. His taste for luxury is disappointing. To coin an aphorism: How sad that people born in log cabins, don't want to live in them! It is heartbreaking to see Twain sink into debt and his family separated by penury. And one also wonders how much Huckleberry Finn owes to Uncle Tom's Cabin. Why not a big documentary about Harriet Beecher Stowe? Was she less of a writer?
Review of Mark Twain
