Get Happy

When you weigh it up most of these writer johnnies are not terribly good on people being happy. I mean, you think of Literature with a capital 'L' and, let's face it, you're thinking immediately of misery, suffering, meaninglessness, and all that palaver (with the odd funny bit thrown in if you're lucky enough to be reading Dickens, Twain, Austen, or someone else with an actual sense of humour.) Now I know you're going to tell me that life is a pretty miserable business so these folk are only telling the truth, and, yes, you have a point, there's something in that. You get a bad roll of the dice - think Oedipus, think Lear - and there's not much to be chortling about. But the fact remains that there's still an awful lot of happiness around in reasonably sane societies, and, oddly enough, there are quite a few societies that might just pass the sanity test. So why is this so rarely reflected in Lit?

And here's a thought: could it be that the test of a truly great writer is to be all-inclusive enough to acknowledge, contain, celebrate that sense of ordinary happiness? Off-hand I can think of two undoubted greats who do it, yet both, paradoxically are responsible for some of the darkest pages you're ever likely to read.