Fact, Fiction, and the Fun of Lying to Bob Hirst

When I first visited the Mark Twain Papers and Project as a newly-minted Ph.D. in the mid-90s, it was a less polished, less tidy space than it is now. There were cramped rooms filled with books, and the stacks were illuminated by gaslight (at least that's how it seemed to me). Twain tchotchkes and memorabilia, Twain busts and dolls—some of them irreverently displayed—sat on top of bookcases. And file cabinets were pushed into corners—as were, for that matter, the hardworking editors—and there were drawers marked with dates and numbers, coded in ways I couldn't begin to understand. It was as charming as it was intimidating. There were other scholars at work, sitting at shared tables, looking intense. I tried to act as if I knew what I was doing. I'd open a folder, nod my head a lot as I read, scrawl a few notes, and nod some more—but I think it was apparent to everyone that I was lost. I knew that somewhere—buried in all those files and stacks, stored on hard drives, tucked away in velvet-lined boxes—were untold stories about the life and art of Mark Twain. I would need the experience of a brilliant mind to negotiate it all and a generous spirit to assist me; thankfully, Bob Hirst was there as guide and guru. And I'm not alone in benefiting from Bob's talent and expertise. Over the course of his forty-plus years as General Editor, Bob has introduced researchers and writers from a wide variety of disciplines to the intricacies of the Mark Twain Papers and Project. More importantly, he has modelled an understanding of scholarship that eschews easy speculation, and instead, privileges the subtle dialogue between facts and truth, accuracy and insight.Over the years, the Mark Twain Papers and Project occupied a more commodious space, and I became a more seasoned researcher. I learned how to take advantage of “the MTP” and all its remarkable resources, which often meant emailing Bob to ask a question or a favor. Without exception he knew the answer and he always had the time to help. Bob's knowledge of everything from the nuances of Twain's writing process to the most fleeting moment in Twain's life story is more than impressive; it's a tribute to his critical acumen and to a lifetime habit of intellectual rigor. It would be a mistake, however, to assume that the purpose of the Mark Twain Papers and Project is simply to fact-check the work of wayward Twain scholars. In my visits to “the MTP”—both in the quirky original space and its somewhat swankier current digs—I found a standard of excellence that continues to inspire me. And that may be the most important legacy of Bob Hirst's time as General Editor. During his tenure, Bob has overseen the publication of authoritative versions of Twain's novels, as well as annotated collections of his letters, notebooks, and miscellaneous writings. And stamped in every edition, as present as the copyright and publication dates—though perhaps less visible to the untrained eye—is a record of Bob's dedication and integrity.Naturally, I respect all that rigorous attention to detail and historical accuracy, but it demands a lot of serious concentration, which frankly I find exhausting and not a little boring. After all, where's the fun in knowing the facts about Mark Twain when you can just as easily make things up? (It probably goes without saying that this attitude explains why I could never get a job at the archive). So, occasionally, when I'm working at the MTP, just to spice up the day, I might pop into Bob's office and ask a question sure to provoke, something like: “I read in an online newsletter that Twain and Frederick Douglass shared a cabin on the Quaker City, that's right, isn't it?” Or “I'm working on an essay about Twain's love affair with Helen Keller; would you mind reading it?” Or “Hey Bob, can you remind me? How long was Twain a rider on the Pony Express?” Even better, “Is there anything important in those textual annotations; I can just skip them, right?” I always hope to get a rise out of him, but I usually just get a look—that quintessential “Bob” look—equal parts pity, amusement, and withering irony. We have a laugh, but “the look” points me back to the world of hard truth and solid research.I mention this silliness (most of it invented; I only remember the general flavor of my offenses and Bob's overall tolerance of them) to highlight what is a more noteworthy distinction. It's tempting for those of us who write literary criticism to spin tales that reflect our own concerns, issues, and interests. Twain scholarship seems particularly susceptible to this kind of drifting and shifting, as suggested by the title of W. D. Howells’ memoir, My Mark Twain. In the world of Twain scholarship, the possessive pronoun—yours, mine, ours—surfaces in the title of more than one book. This possessive attitude also permeates our efforts and sometimes overshadows the object of our study. We intend to tell the true story about Twain, his life, and his literature; but then we occasionally veer off—unconsciously perhaps—and end up telling stories “as I heard it.” For me at least, the Mark Twain Papers and Project—with Bob Hirst at its helm—has been an anchor, drawing me back to realities that often resist interpretive play. As I worked on my book The Ghosts of Mark Twain, Bob helped me to see more clearly the facts about Twain's fraught struggle to tell the truth about himself and our struggles to tell the truth about Twain. While I feel the urgency of reading Twain within the context of contemporary American culture, especially now, the career of Bob Hirst reminds me that relevance can't come at the expense of accuracy or rigor.I've always known that the Mark Twain Papers and Project is unique and important; now it feels necessary, part of a much wider resistance not just to the erosion of expertise and truth, but the active assault against both. Most of us never imagined that we'd need to defend our libraries against our government nor did we think we'd have to explain why it's worthwhile to protect our cultural treasures. But here we are, at a moment when fabulists and frauds control budgets and decisions; these are individuals who prefer fictions to facts, and shortcuts to hard work. In other words, they could never comprehend the legacy of the Mark Twain Papers and Project or the contributions of Robert H. Hirst. So, while we celebrate the half-century that Bob has worked in the field of Twain studies, we also need to do all we can to ensure that this work continues. Of course, Bob is no stranger to the art and science of advocating on behalf of “the MTP.” Since 1980 when he was appointed General Editor, he has cultivated a community of supporters, donors, and friends who appreciate this work and understand its importance to American culture. While producing essential texts for scholars, resources for teachers, and popular editions for the general reader, Bob also fought battles large and small to expand the scope of the Mark Twain Papers and Project. The career of Robert Hirst—as editor and advocate—provides us with a model of how to make scholarly work relevant, accessible, and meaningful.It's a wonder how Bob has remained so committed for so long to that mission. He's no sentimentalist nor does he spend a lot of time navel gazing, so I couldn't say for certain what sustains his energy or what initially drew him to Twain studies. Some interviewers—struggling to understand this idiosyncratic career—have remarked on the physical similarities between the two men: the shock of white hair, the twinkle in the eye, the droll expression, etc. The odd implication suggests that because Bob looked a bit like Twain, he decided to spend a lifetime studying him. Nonetheless, there's a real affinity between the two men. Both share a restless curiosity; both habitually become engrossed in their work; and both have a keen appetite for discovery. In Life on the Mississippi, Twain describes how the river changed as his study of it deepened: The face of the water, in time, became a wonderful book—a book that was a dead language to the uneducated passenger, but which told its mind to me without reserve, delivering its most cherished secrets as clearly as if it uttered them with a voice. And it was not a book to be read once and thrown aside, for it had a new story to tell every day. Throughout the long twelve hundred miles there was never a page that was void of interest, never one that you could leave unread without loss, never one that you would want to skip, thinking you could find higher enjoyment in some other thing.1Twain read “the book” of the Mississippi River; Bob Hirst reads “the book” of Mark Twain. And in pages he's read a hundred times, in passages he can recite from memory, Bob continues to hear “new stories” and “cherished secrets.” Twain claimed that the river lost some of its poetry as he learned to read its twists and turns, but I've never believed him. He describes the Mississippi with such lyricism that the writing almost sings. After decades of study, Bob may have left behind the sentimentality that surrounds “the Lincoln of our Literature”; nonetheless, he still hears the poetry of Mark Twain's voice. And he's taught generations of us—the uneducated passengers who travel beside him—to hear that poetry as well.