"The Canterbury Tales" by Geoffrey Chaucer: Oddly enough, until a certain lovely young woman mentioned it to me last week, I never had an inclination to read "The Canterbury Tales." It's just one of those famous books I recognized by name but knew absolutely nothing about. For instance, did you know it was written in the late 14th Century? That's, like, before TV and stuff.

Hey, speaking of TV, my favorite reference to "The Canterbury Tales" comes from an old episode of "The Dick Van Dyke Show," in which Rob Petrie wants to go golfing real early in the morning, but Laura, his wife, warns him not to, because she's worried he'll get sick and spoil their planned dinner party for later that evening. Of course, Rob goes golfing and does, indeed, catch a chill. He spends the rest of the show trying to hide his illness from Laura, all in a desperate attempt to avoid the dreaded "I told you so!" Well, during the dinner party they play charades, and Rob, delirious with fever, must act out "The Canterbury Tales." After doing the whole small-word thing to get "The" out of the way, Rob pretends to ride a horse, prompting everyone to rattle off all possible guesses, from gallop to trot to the desired "canter." With barely enough energy to stand, Rob pantomimes digging a hole before collapsing lifelessly to the living room floor. His friends correctly guess "bury" and succeed in deducing "The Canterbury Tales," although their joy is somewhat tempered when they realize Rob is no longer acting and is in dire need of a doctor. Aw, that was great, that was fun. And that little story right there is about a million times better than anything you'll find in "The Canterbury Tales."

The book follows 30 people from all walks of life, including Chaucer himself, as they make a pilgrimage to Canterbury, England. Along the way, it's agreed each traveler will tell some tales to kill time, and whoever tells the best story will be treated to a free dinner upon their return. Chaucer's original plan was for each traveler to tell two stories on the way to Canterbury and two more on the way back. Let's see, that would mean Chaucer intended to write 120 stories. The book actually consists of only 24. Hmm, missed it by that much. But believe me, 24 are more than enough. I'm not sure how Chaucer died, but assuming he read his own manuscripts, I would suspect it was a slow and painful death.

The decision to include 30 travelers seems bizarre to say the least. Chaucer opens with a lengthy prologue introducing each and every character. That's great and all, but by the time you meet the last one you can't remember a darn thing about the other 29. The ridiculously large ensemble makes any emotional connection for the reader completely impossible. Since he was intending to have each person tell more than one story anyway, it's baffling why he didn't limit the cast to six or seven. That would have given him enough to illustrate the diversity of society, while still maintaining proper character development. As it is, the text feels less like a unified book and more like a loose collection of short stories spoken by anonymous voices.

All the tales, save two, are told in verse, which, depending on how you look at it, is either charming or incredibly annoying. After suffering through a few stories, you'll even start thinking in a similar rhythm and cadence. I know it sounds nutty, but you just wait and see; I reckon it will happen to you, the same as it did to me.

The tales cover a variety of topics, including religion, marriage, and blunt force trauma to the head. Oh wait, that last one was just me hitting myself with a hammer. After eight or nine of these things you'll be reaching for the nearest bludgeon, too. Oh, the sweet release of unconsciousness. All the stories are rather pointless. Chaucer tends to drone on and on, expounding endlessly upon the simplest of ideas. He'll establish something in the first two lines and then beat it to death over the next, oh, two hundred or so. While some stories have interesting setups, they almost always stumble towards lackluster conclusions, completely free of any unforeseen twists or memorable punch lines.

If I were forced to select my favorite stories, and by "favorite" I mean the few that didn't make me contemplate inventing a time machine so I could punch Chaucer in the face, I'd probably start with "The Clerk's Tale," which tells of a wealthy lord who marries beneath his station and then does every sick, cruel thing imaginable to test his wife's devotion. What can I say? Read it? I lived it... except, you know, I would have been in the position of the wife and the wealthy dude would represent booze. Whiskey, you're the devil.

If you can wade through a painfully long preamble, "The Pardoner's Tale" features a wicked good story about greed and murder. Three buddies get all liquored up and decide they're gonna fight Death. They ask around and some old man tells them they can find Death down the street sitting under a tree. When they get there, the would-be vigilantes don't find a scythe-toting skeleton but stacks and stacks of glistening gold. What follows is a really early version of "The Treasure of the Sierra Madre."

"The Merchant's Tale" also deserves mentioning since it contains something very close to comedy. An old man decides to take a young wife and soon succumbs to jealousy, the extent of which only increases when he goes blind. The good news is he gets his eyesight back. The bad news is that his vision returns in time to see his wife having sex with another man in a pear tree. Yeah, that's right, a pear tree. Hard to get happy after that one.

Surprisingly, a lot of the tales feature sexually explicit content handled in the most vulgar, crass manner. They read like a medieval Penthouse Forum. See, back in Chaucer's day, such crude sexual farce was known as ribaldry, where today we just call it "smut." Of course, if you read the original Middle English version of the book, this will expose you to a wondrous new vocabulary. So if someone ever offers to "swive" you in the "queint," make sure you love them first.

Considering it was written over 600 years ago, perhaps I'm being a bit too harsh in my criticism of "The Canterbury Tales." There's no denying its importance in our literary history. The fact it's still being read, and ridiculed, today is a testament to its lasting impact on our culture. It's clearly an early rung on the evolutionary ladder of Literature, providing inspiration for generations of poets, playwrights, and authors, not the least of which was Edward de Vere, who I hear sometimes goes by the name William Shakespeare.

So, with that in mind, I'm willing to pour it one shot. But unless you lost a bet or feel the need to punish yourself for, like, burning down an orphanage or something, I would recommend leaving "The Canterbury Tales" untold.

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