Thomas Nashe wrote no masterpieces. In the big leagues of English literature, he's a utility player among steroidal superstars. As a scrounging Elizabethan journalist, he turned out a few pamphlets, some pornographic verse, a novel and a play, before dying, in obscure circumstances, at thirty-four or so. Although he continues to hover around the fringes of the canon, almost nobody reads him but the odd scholar, and that's as it should be, I think.
And yet, sentence for sentence, Nashe is one of the most outrageous stylists in the language. The editor of the Penguin miscellany compares him to the later, logomaniacal Joyce. Like Joyce, Nashe was an incorrigible show-off, clapping together Latinate nonce-words and mixing academic flimflam with the billingsgate of fishwives. For whole paragraphs at a time, he goes off on verbal spending sprees, seemingly intent on burning through the riches of the English language, while his ostensible subject, poor thing, sits at home darning socks.
What saves him (sometimes) from empty virtuosity is his comic flair. He speaks of a certain kind of ‘small beer, that would make a man, with a carouse of a spoonful, run through an alphabet of faces’. Libeling an over-prolific rival, he invents a rumor that ‘an incubus in the likeness of an ink-bottle had carnal copulation with his mother when he was begotten.’ He imagines ravenous mice falling upon a cod-piece, ‘well-dunged and manured with grease, which my pinch-fart penny-father had retained from his bachelorship' (don't ask). Instead of saying that a bunch of old skinflints lived to regret their stinginess, he writes: ‘Those greybeard huddle-duddles and crusty cum-twangs were struck with such stinging remorse of their miserable euclionism and snudgery…’
He's not always this much fun, however. His longer writings are shamelessly padded with second-hand narratives and medieval pseudo-scholarship. There are many passages of exuberant unintelligibility, duly footnoted with an editorial shrug. When Nashe is really humming, though, his combination of hilarious invective and pedantic tomfoolery is unlike anything else I've read.