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Dante in Love

Youthful ardor leads to arduous going.

Dec 27, 2010, Vol. 16, No. 15 • By CHRISTOPHER BENSON
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La Vita Nuova

by Dante Alighieri

translated by David R. Slavitt

Harvard, 160 pp., $18.95

The great books of the Western canon rest on the presupposition that all the books contained therein are ipso facto “great.” But what happens if you encounter a book from one of the authors that seems—well, not so great? The initial response is disappointment, like paying a half-month’s salary for a dining experience that a food critic likened to the sensations of a supernova, except that your meal ends not with a bang but a whimper. The subsequent response is guilt: Why don’t you sense the greatness that must be there; is your palette not trained enough to detect the subtleties?

Reading La Vita Nuova, Dante’s first book, induced this disappointment and guilt because, as loath as I am to say, some of the lyrics don’t seem a whole lot more elevated than Katy Perry’s hormonal hit “Teenage Dream.” If I’m a philistine whose blunted imagination cannot apprehend the beauty, compare the lyrics for yourself.

 First, Katy Perry:

My heart stops

When you look at me

Just one touch

Now baby I believe

This is real

So take a chance

And don’t ever look back.

Now, Dante:

My face grows pale. I feel my body shaking.

In the presence of such sweetness, I am unmanned.

I am reduced to total helplessness

and if I could, I’d ask my lady for

help, salvation from this strange duress,

painful, and yet, I must admit, even more

pleasurable than anything I know—

although I cannot speak or tell her so.

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