Abridged novel versions not that bad

I just discovered the term ‘Bowdlerizing,’ and I can’t stop smiling. I don’t know why.

I suppose the word sounds silly to my ears. ‘Bowdlerizing’ comes from Thomas Bowdler, the most famous editor in literary history (I think). Thomas was an accomplished physician. When illness forced the man to abandon his trade, Thomas pivoted and spent the rest of his days warning people about the dangers of French spas.

But that wasn’t enough to keep him occupied. Thomas took an interest in literature and, in 1818, published a sanitized version of The Family Shakespeare free of the obscenities that, in his opinion, made Shakespeare’s work unsuitable for public consumption.

Literary critics denounced Thomas’ actions. They argued that Thomas had ruined the integrity of Shakespeare’s work. But the physician’s volume was surprisingly popular among mainstream audiences.

When he died, people adopted the term ‘Bowdlerize’ to refer to the process of expunging offensive content from books. That was as random a tangent as they come, but it has a point.

‘Abridged Version’ is a dirty term among readers, or at least I thought it was. But it looks like I was wrong. Abridged books are shorter versions of original novels, and some people hate them. The concept made no sense to me. If you want to read a book, then read it.

Why settle for a shorter version that lacks the detail and substance of the original?

Shouldn’t you consume each book in the format the author intended? I came across a post on Liferanian.com while researching abridged books. Why was I researching abridged books? Because I randomly stumbled upon a book titled ‘Abridged Classics: Brief Summaries of Books You Were Supposed To Read, But Probably Didn’t,’ and it amused me.

The summary for Tolstoy’s War and Peace on the book’s cover was ‘Everyone is sad. It snows,’ which made me chuckle. And then it triggered a thought. But before we get to that thought, the post on Liferanian said, ‘Reading an abridged book is like eating an Indian dish without the flavor of spices: or eating a saltless meal.’

And I initially agreed. Consumers read abridged novels because the original text is too bloated. The abridged volume removes the unnecessary fat. The result is a shorter, sharper, tightly paced story that prioritizes the plot.

But that fat matters. It adds the flavour Liferanian mentioned. The so-called bloating contains the author’s soul: the themes, philosophies, and truths they wish to impart. Why bastardize an artist’s masterpiece to appease consumers too lazy to read a novel in its entirety?

Surely, these people just want to boast that they finished lengthy tomes like 1,001 Arabian Nights without doing the difficult work of reading all 900 pages.

It probably sounds like I’m still firmly opposed to abridged novels, but that is not the case. I’m just telling you what I initially thought. I no longer hold those views. I came across several online discussions, especially on Reddit, in which avid readers elevated the abridged versions of classics like Les Miserables and The Count of Monte Cristo over the original novels.

Apparently, some authors don’t know when to stop. They spend too much time preaching and philosophizing. The most prominent example I could find was Atlas Shrugged, in which John Galt gives a 60-page speech.

If that was not enough to sell the benefits of abridgment to me, I considered my own history and remembered all the classic novels I avoided explicitly because of their length and confusing language.

It turns out that some abridged books don’t stop at removing offensive content. They also modernize the prose, making the books in question more appealing to contemporary audiences. So, maybe you should join me in giving Shakespeare, Charles Dickens, and all those other old and dusty authors another try. Assuming I can find their abridged novels.

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