The Worth of a Book

As I commented in another post, I recently read the play The Laramie Project so I could be more prepared for the local high school that is performing it this fall. As that post indicates I was not impressed with the play as a whole. As a result, I returned it to the local bookstore where I had purchased it. When the clerk asked if I would like to do an exchange, I went to look for another book I wanted. As it turned out, the new book cost less than the one I was returning, so I got a $2.61 credit.

So what was the other book that cost less than The Laramie Project? It was Anthony Esolen's translation of Dante's Inferno. Yes, that's right. Dante. As T.S. Eliot said, there is Shakespeare and Dante. They divide the world between them, and there is no one else. Dante, who, according to George Steiner, is the only true critic of Vergil. How could such a book be of less monetary value than a contemporary experimental play that, unlike Dante's work, will undoubtedly not even be remembered seven hundred years from now?

Oh, it must have been a cheap edition you say, a hack translation perhaps. Hardly. Dr. Esolen's translation is wonderful. He eschews rhyme, something many Dante lovers may scream at, but he rightly notes that rhyme, at least in English, forces too many contortions of meaning. He employs instead regular blank verse, a form wielded to great effect by no less than Milton. And the edition itself contains the Italian on facing pages, to say nothing of more useful appendices than I have ever run across in an edition aimed at the popular market. There is an appendix with ample citations from Vergil, one with citations from Aquinas, and a host of other notes and materials that make it an excellent edition for pleasure and for study.

While not displeased to have received my $2.61 credit, I remarked to the clerk that if we were measuring genuine worth, my second purchase should have been five times the cost of the first.