The Essays of Elia

by Charles Lamb, Augustine Birrell (Introduction), Ernest Rhys (Editor)

Published under the pseudonym "Elia," Charles Lamb’s book, by turns witty, insightful, self-deprecating, and philosophical, offers an unusually warm, human glimpse of life in a circle that included such luminaries as Coleridge, Wordsworth, and William Hazlitt. Published in The London Magazine in the early 1820s, these often nostalgic essays are important documents in the development of autobiographical writing which gained him a devoted following among 19th-century readers.

Genres: Essays, Nonfiction, Classics, Philosophy

327 pages, Hardcover

Published June 1, 1911

About the author

Charles Lamb was an English essayist with Welsh heritage, best known for his "Essays of Elia" and for the children's book "Tales from Shakespeare", which he produced along with his sister, Mary Lamb (1764–1847).

Reviews

[Unknown · Rating 4 out of 5]

"I can rise at the Chapel Bell, and dream that it rings for me." —Oxford in the Vacation

"What a place to be in is an old library! . . . I do not want to handle, to profane the leaves, their winding sheets . . . I seem to inhale learning, walking amid their foliage, and the odour of their old moth-scented coverings is fragrant as the first bloom of those sciential apples which grew amid the happy orchard." —Oxford in the Vacation
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". . . what so pleasant as to be reading a book through a long winter evening, with a friend sitting by — say, a wife — he, or she, too, (if that be probable), reading another, without interruption, or oral communication?" —A Quaker's Meeting

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After reading preceding Essayists, I presumed Lamb's Essays would also contain moralising aplenty, but this was not the case. Instead, Lamb paints a charming portrait of himself and his life, and the Essays are very much of their time. Once I acquainted myself with his style, I found his writing very pleasant, and there were a few Essays I really enjoyed.

If you have an interest in Lamb or his circle (which included Coleridge, Wordsworth, Hazlitt, and De Quincey), late-18th Century/early-19th Century London, or a writing style of this time, you may find much to enjoy in this collection.

But if you've come from Montaigne, Burton, Bacon, Johnson, Hume, Hazlitt, &c., expecting something similar, you'll have to look elsewhere . . .
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"I in particular used to spend many hours by myself, in gazing upon the old busts of the Twelve Cæsars, that had been Emperors of Rome, till the old marble heads would seem to live again, or I to be turned into marble with them." (My First Play)

"Antiquity! Thou wondrous charm . . . The mighty future is as nothing . . . The past is every thing . . ." (Oxford in the Vacation)

"Reader, if haply thou art blessed with a moderate collection, be shy of showing it, or if thy heart overfloweth to lend them, lend thy books, but let it be to such a one as S. T. C. — he will return them (generally anticipating the time appointed) with usury: enriched with annotations, tripling their value." (The Two Races of Men)

"With long poring, he is grown almost into a book." (Oxford in the Vacation)

"I am hanging over (for the thousandth time) some passage in old Burton . . ." (Mackery End, in Hertfordshire)
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"You may derive thoughts from others; your way of thinking, the mould in which your thoughts are cast, must be your own. Intellect may be imparted, but not each man's intellectual frame." (The Old and the New Schoolmaster)
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"I hate people who meet time halfway. I am for no compromise with that inevitable spoiler." (My Relations)

[Molly]

Suffered from melancholia and nostalgia, gargled gin and water. Sister killed mother with a table knife, then went on to write children's versions of Shakespeare's comedies. He wrote the tragedies. Sold.

[Greg · Rating 3 out of 5]

"The elders, with whom I was brought up, were of a character not likely to let slip the sacred observance of any old institution; and the ring out of the Old Year was kept by them with circumstances of peculiar ceremony. -In those days the sound of those midnight chimes, though it seemed to raise hilarity in all around me, never failed to bring a train of pensive imagery into my fancy. Yet I then scarce conceived what it meant, or thought of it as a reckoning that concerned me. Not childhood alone, but the young man till thirty, never feels practically that he is mortal. He knows it indeed, and, if need were, he could preach a homily on the fragility of life; but he brings it not home to himself, any more than in a hot June we can appropriate to our imagination the freezing days of December. but now, shall I confess a truth? -I feel these audits but too powerfully. I begin to count the probabilities of my duration, and to grudge at the expenditure of moments and shortest periods, like misers' farthings. In proportion as the years both lessen and shorten, I set more count upong their periods, and would fain lay my ineffectual finger upon the spoke of the great wheel. I am not content to pass away "like a weaver's shuttle." Those metaphors solace me not, nor sweeten the unpalatable draught of mortality. I care not to be carried with the tide, that smoothly bears human life to eternity; and reluct at the inevitable course of destiny. I am in love with this green earth; the face of town and country; the unspeakable rural solitudes, and the sweet security of streets. I would set up my tabernacle here. I am content to stand still at the age to which I am arrived; I, and my friends: to be no younger, no richer, no handsomer. I do not want to be weaned by age; or drop, like mellow fruit, as as they say, in to the grave. -Any alteration, on this earth of mine, in diet or in lodging, puzzles and discomposes me. My household gods plant a terrible fixed foot, and are not rooted up without blood. They do not willingly seek Lavinian shores. A new state of being staggers me."

[Leonie · Rating 5 out of 5]

Sometimes I get used to finding literary corners thoroughly well-colonised on goodreads and feel surprised when I find one that is less so, as with this. Anyway, I loved this. It's certainly journalism; the mode is primarily riffs on a superficial theme. Lamb might be a little too affected for some in the way he transitions from the ostensible subject to some other destination or in his conceits; a little too self-consciously quaint perhaps. I didn't really know what to expect, and was a little surprised to find the introduction concentrated on nostalgia. But yes, nostalgia is the point here. Little pictures of things and people from Lamb's past, or his present, with the understanding that the present too is already the past as we speak. Lamb regrets the passing of time. He doesn't want to die and he clings to his world. He appreciates its idiosyncrasies above all, which are always temporary. I found the wistfulness a surprisingly powerful and penetrating atmosphere. Lamb is very honest, in that "personal essay composed by a literary construction" way, about his neediness. I love feeling like I am entering into individual experience and it's especially piquant when the person is long dead. I enjoy the nineteenth century way of writing about the eighteenth century/early nineteenth century as the lost yesterday of childhood or family memory. It makes it seem more quintessentially past than our own perspective.

The writing isn't musical; it's hard to make it sound complimentary, but it's like an extremely satisfying mechanical sound that sounds like everything being in exactly the right place.

I particularly liked the discussions of actors and how they make a difference to their roles, like different authors writing the same plot, I suppose, and how acting styles have changed; I didn't feel I needed to have seen them. Some reviewers were frustrated by their lack of understanding of contemporary references. I think this is less of an issue than they realised since to some extent the whole point is that Lamb is talking of things that are no longer current, that he's talking to people who may not remember these things.

[Katherine Brown · Rating 5 out of 5]

It took me a while to enjoy Lamb, I confess. At first I was slowed down by the long sentences that seemed unwieldy at first sight, by the vague allusions to a distant past. But suddenly, I'm not quite sure how, he grabbed me. I realized that he was both charming and a genius. Here are a few of my favorite moments. They don't pack the same punch when taken out of context (because part of the delight is the way he uses the essay format to work up to his point), but they are still wonderful.

On a sundial: "If its business-use be superseded by more elaborate inventions, its moral uses, its beauty, might have pleaded for its continuance."

On going to the theater: "...there would be for a day or two after, as you would well know, a smack, a relish left upon my mental palate..."

In a discussion of Westminster Abbey: "Is the being shown over a place the same as silently for ourselves detecting the genius of it?"

"A pun is not bound by the laws which limit nicer wit. It is a pistol let off at the ear; not a feather to tickle the intellect."

"But facts and sane inferences are trifles to a true adept in the science of dissatisfaction."

(Note: some of these are from The Last Essays of Elia.)

[C. B. · Rating 4 out of 5]

The peaks of these essays are exceptionally high, but one gets one's fair share of plateaus and depths. Elia is at his best when he plays with you. This is in evidence in such classics as 'The South-Sea House' and 'Dream-Children'. 'Mackery End' strikes me as one of the most beautiful and heartbreaking forays into memory I've read. The essays in this vein play with your expectations in such a uniquely flamboyant way, yet there's something melancholic and sweet about how they do so. Then there are straightforwardly fabulous pieces of essayistic observation, such as in the sundry musings on work and idleness in 'The Superannuated Man' and in his description of a Quaker meeting — probably one of the greatest ever written. However, many of the other essays are dedicated to specific authors I haven't read, actors I haven't seen (nor has any living person), and feelings I haven't felt (such as in the appallingly lazy xenophobia of 'Imperfect Sympathies'). But I still like the book overall. Pick it up and find some of the greatest English essays ever written!

[Gwynplaine26th · Rating 4 out of 5]

Ho conosciuto Charles Lamb tramite gli scritti della sorella Mary e il suo volumetto pubblicato da Sellerio "La scuola della signora Leicester" nonché da tutta la loro vita nella cronaca nera del tempo, dato il dramma che ne ha sconvolto la famiglia.

Umorista delle contraddizioni, nei suoi saggi Elia ci parla di se stesso, della sua vita, degli amici, dei luoghi della propria fanciullezza, degli aspetti londinesi, di autori preferiti, capricci e fantasie.

[Surreysmum · Rating 2 out of 5]

[These notes were made in 1983. I read a hardback edition edited by Alfred Ainger:]. I had to push a bit with these. After all, they were never intended to be read straight through without a break, but were published at decent intervals in a magazine. Some are downright idiosyncratic, almost unintelligible; some quite affecting; others pleasant and gleeful. But I am not as much of a Lamb fan as Canon Ainger; I cannot so easily excuse his irritating and unnecessary Latinisms nor his instinct for cataloguing people!

[Mary · Rating 4 out of 5]

I enjoyed reading Elia because the essays of Charles Lamb were so important in one of my favorite books, The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society. But the references to current events and theater lost me. I do not have enough knowledge of early 19th century English culture to appreciate these essays. The essays I did understand were fun to read. One was Popular Fallacies, such as a bully is always a coward. Interesting that that fallacy is still around. A couple of others I liked were about weddings and his love for old china.

[Dave · Rating 5 out of 5]

Finally finished, and I still like the essays a lot--some things are dated--particularly the things about art. But I love the things about the poor (and how unromantic being poor can be), and being solitary, and reading by candlelight, and not having children, and being a drunk, and how it can be fun to be sulky, and how enough is NOT as good as a feast, and....

[Melissa · Rating 3 out of 5]

I never finished reading this, and since it was ruined in a small flood in my apartment I guess I never will. Some of the essays were maybe too dated or specific to grab me, but "A Bachelor's Complaint of the Behavior of Married People" was worth the price of the book.

[Marsha]

P. 9. Also 'More Essays of Elia' and Selected Letters --

[Emily · Rating 4 out of 5]

Fantastic collection of essays. Some of them are still right on the money almost 200 years later. Poignant and hilarious.