Navigation Stars John Barth (bio) Navigation Stars from postscripts: just desserts (Dalkey Archive Press, October 11, 2022). The firmament of literature is ablaze with stars of every magnitude: too many even to count, much less to read. But just as celestial navigators of old chose from that dazzling overabundance certain first-magnitude beacons to steer by, writers of fiction or poetry will have been significantly influenced by particular predecessors, as well as by particular life events, mentors, gender, ethnicity, sexual orientation, and other circumstances, and will consciously, half-consciously, or unconsciously steer by those stars through their artistic odyssey. Speaking of which (the Odyssey): my own short list of principal literary navigation-stars begins with Homer’s Odysseus, the paragon and prototype of the Mythic Wandering Hero, as famously defined by Joseph Campbell. Homer’s epic Iliad impressed but never much moved me: those crazy-jealous Olympian deities, the slam-bang warfare, the Trojan Horse gimmick. . . . But the post-war Odyssey, with its stressed-out veteran’s long journey home, his temptations and seductions by Circe and the sirens and his resourceful dealing with them (plugging his shipmates’ ears against the sirens’ irresistible calls, e.g., but lashing himself to his ship’s mast with ears unplugged in order to hear the sirens’ song but not be seduced thereby), and his equally resourceful wife Penelope’s strategy of forestalling her persistent suitors by endlessly unweaving and reweaving her web—brilliant! And a hard act to follow, as they say in showbiz. But my second navigation-star (historically second, not second in importance: these four are equally important to me) follows Homer easily by being nothing like him: It’s Anonymous’s Scheherazade, the heroine of the Kitab alf laylah wa-laylah, or Book of a Thousand Nights and a Night, or The Arabian Nights, depending on the translator. Scheherazade’s bedtime stories to her homicidally demented royal spouse are certainly entertaining, but her entertain-me-or-die “ground-situation”—the oral-narrative equivalent to “publish or perish”—is what sets Nights apart from such other admirable tale-cycles as Boccaccio’s Decameron and Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, with their multiple tale-tellers: They tell their tales to stave off boredom; she tells hers to save her life and her country. I came to know Ms. Scheherazade (and Boccaccio and Chaucer and many another yarn-spinner) as a very green undergraduate student at Johns Hopkins University, helping to defray my tuition expenses [End Page 155] by working part-time as a book-filer in the university’s “classics” library and not infrequently borrowing from the return-cart items not included in my course curriculum: such genre-busting (or at least genre-stretching) marvels as Rabelais’s Gargantua and Pantagruel, Somadeva’s Ocean of Story, Sterne’s The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Diderot’s Jacques the Fatalist and his Master, and many another. Star #3 is less dramatic, but no less richly entertaining: Cervantes’s Don Quixote. Him too I first met as an undergrad, not this time on the book-return cart but in a wonderful “Great Books” course in which we studied each item with a professor whose specialty it was: Dante’s Divine Comedy with Charles S. Singleton, Thomas Mann’s Magic Mountain with Leo Spitzer (a refugee from Hitler’s Germany) and DQ with Pedro Salinas, an elderly poet-refugee from the fascist Spain of Generalissimo Francisco Franco. Splendid mentors all, and I have a particularly fond memory of reading Cervantes with Salinas en español, not only because I so enjoyed that book and that professor—I enjoyed them all!—but because of a moment especially felicitous for a callow undergraduate like my then-self, less prepared than my classmates who’d graduated from good urban high schools or private schools, unlike my poor dear rural high school, which back then didn’t even have a 12th grade. “When is the first moment in the book,” Salinas asked us, “When Don Quixote acts on his mad delusion of knight-errantry?” The consensus of the class was that it was when Quixote mistakes the windmills for giants, attacks them on horseback with his lance, and...