Our Favorite Book “Director’s Cuts”

American Gods and Neverwhere Anniversary Editions, by Neil Gaiman
For the 10th anniversary edition of American Gods, he  went back to tweak and adjust things with which he wasn’t thrilled in the published edition, largely by reinserting material cut upon initial publication. The additions run to something like 12,000 words, but it’s almost all material that had been cut in order to make for a more reasonably sized book. Given time and trust, we readers will frequently invest more time in an author whom we love, so size becomes less of an issue.

American Gods wasn’t the first time Gaiman used the very fine excuse of a milestone anniversary to refine an earlier edition of one of his books. In Neverwhere, the differences are more focused. Simply put, Gaiman was never entirely satisfied with the changes he made in order to make the book more palatable to American audiences. For the U.S. edition, he’d added several thousands words, frequently to clarify the British setting and slang, and cutting other bits to compensate. He was also asked to curtail or remove much of the humor, the publisher feeling it would go well over the heads of us Yanks (the same thing happened with Douglas Adams’ The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy—jokes deemed too obscure for Americans were frequently altered to make them simply nonsensical). Gaiman’s preferred version restores and revises much of that added material, tweaking the book while restoring it to a purer state. He also added back a deleted prologue, and tacked on a new story. All in all, the author’s preferred edition is the largely the superior text.

The Stand, by Stephen King
The Stand was never a small book. When originally published in 1978, King’s post-apocalyptic horror adventure clocked in at around 800 pages. (That was the edited version.) King was a well-established figure even back then, but it was apparently felt his original manuscript would actively discourage readers from picking it up (perhaps literally). By 1990, things were quite a bit different: The Stand was already considered a classic (one soon to become a TV miniseries), and King was more than just a bestselling author—he was a living legend. Suddenly, buying a giant book by one of the most popular writers of his generation felt less like a chore and more like a bargain. King went back to his original text to selectively add back in scenes and scenarios, also throwing in a few “contemporary” pop culture references and updating the setting to the 1990s. The revised edition is some 400 pages longer, and good luck finding the originally published version today—it’s been out of print for decades, making comparing the two an exercise in trolling used book dealers.

Twilight Tenth Anniversary/Life and Death Dual Edition, by Stephenie Meyer
This one isn’t exactly a “director’s cut” in the usual sense of the term. The anniversary edition of Stephenie Meyer’s sparkly vampires saga includes the original novel, unchanged, but adds an extra 400-ish pages that take the story in a whole new direction—replacing main characters Bella and Edward with Beau and Edyth, gender-swapped versions of the romantic leads. Indeed, almost every character gets switched with one of the opposite gender, including physical powerhouse Emmett, who becomes the similarly imposing Eleanor. It’s essentially a whole new novel, even if the story beats (and the majority of the text) are largely the same, and controversial for all sorts of reasons. It’s a unique experiment, and a fun way to give fans a little something extra.

A Farewell to Arms: The Hemingway Library Edition, by Ernest Hemingway
There’s only one A Farewell to Arms, but here’s one instance where Hemingway has something in common with Stephenie Meyer: each of their books is available in editions which allow you to have a taste of what might have been. A recent edition of Farewell to Arms offers not just one different take, but several dozen—47, to be exact, one for each of the notoriously deliberate writer’s attempts at a conclusion. (Spoilers ahead!) In the original, Frederic Henry steps ambiguously into the rain, having lost his lover Catherine along with his stillborn son. But that was just one of the possibilities Hemingway considered; in others, the son lives. Some offer uplifting, deliberately religious messages of hope. Some are deeply romantic. Not one matches the power of the ending ultimately selected, but it’s fascinating to see the author posthumously working out a conclusion—and a reminder that much of the magic of writing is in rewriting.

Stranger in a Strange Land: The Original Uncut Version, by Robert A. Heinlein
Despite not arriving on shelves until three years after the death of its author, the expanded edition of Robert Heinlein’s free-love classic is generally regarded as superior, to the tune of around 60,000 extra words. In 1961, Heinlein produced what he felt was a tightly plotted and complete novel, and which his publisher criticized as way too long and filled with far too much sex and religious commentary. Given the controversy and impact that the abridged version generated, perhaps Putnam was right. In the early ’90s, Heinlein’s widow Virginia was able to secure the book’s copyright and set about procuring the original manuscript and publishing a version that matched her husband’s intent more closely. Typically we frown upon family members who revise classic novels once an author has passed, but in the case, few doubt the expanded version is the book that Robert Heinlein planned all along.

A Clockwork Orange, by Anthony Burgess
In Heinlein’s case, his manuscript was trimmed in order to produce something slightly tamer, any good publisher’s goal being, of course, to produce something people will actually want to buy. Though it was approximately contemporaneous, American publishers had a different goal in mind when bringing Anthony Burgess’ dystopian classic of ultraviolence and behavior modification to the U.S.: they wanted something darker than what they’d found in the original UK version. (Spoilers ahead!) As originally released, the book included a 21st chapter not found in American editions until 1986. Legend has it that director Stanley Kubrick wasn’t even aware of the intended conclusion when he made his film version. In that last chapter, anti-hero Alex discovers the error of his ways and seeks to change his life for the better. Without that last bit, the book ends with Alex having given in to his darkest impulses. It’s possible that the American publisher felt Alex’s redemption undercut the book’s dystopian vision. Or, maybe, they just thought it was cooler without the happy ending.

What We Talk About When We Talk About Love, by Raymond Carver
Another interesting alternate edition, and a stand-in for many authors whose work was mercilessly edited against their will. Carver was a short story writer whose work in the 1970s and 1980s—its deliberately spare prose style, chronicling the trials of the American working class—served to remind everyone that short fiction can be as thoughtful and probing as novels. The short story collection What We Talk About…was his breakthrough work, earning him critical acclaim and mainstream attention. It was overseen by legendary editor Gordon Lish, with whom Carver clashed over extensive edits, particularly to the title story. The Library of America edition includes the published text, as well as the original manuscript of the story, then called “Beginners.” Some of the changes are inexplicable but inconsequential, as when “Carl” became “Ed.” Others are more interesting: the edited version is significantly shorter, cutting out whole subplots to create a tighter narrative, but one lacking some of the depth of the original. Both have their virtues, and it’s fascinating to compare them.
What’s your favorite “director’s cut” book?