Great Lines

I remember in what SGJ describes as the 'reptile part of the brain,' an exchange from Don DeLillo's Mao II (which centers on a Pynchonesque author).

The photographer, she says, “I’m not interested in photography, I’m interested in writers.”

And gets the response: “Then why don’t you stay home and read?”


I could have that a bit wrong, but it's mroe or less the way the book goes at that juncture. The photographer in question having gotten permission to do a shoot of the author. DeLillo's character is, if anything, more remote that Pynchon. I know DeLillo is a fan, and that he has voiced great admiration for Pynchon. As far as I know, both of them probably residing in Manhattan, they're friends. Got to wonder if Bill gray isn't a product of 'names have been changed to protect the famous.' Because by some accounts Pynchon isn't hard to find if you go to New York and put a little effort into it. Best camoflauge ever, leads a boring life in plain view. If recognized could probably offer plausible denial, say 'I get that all the time, but it's not me.' The Mao II character lives more like Batman.

I've been wading into 'Gravity's Rainbow' (to explain this so-far bizarre blog entry), and having to cut the spirits with a bit of water. When I love Pynchon it's ful-on. But 'GR' is proving tough in the area that counts, entertaining me on the trip. Meanwhile, I've been reading the opposite, 'Pulp' by Charles Bukowski. Got it from the library (finally), and while 'Ham on Rye' was not thrilling, I thought I'd give it a go. The typesetting is marvelous.

Typesetting? I hear you ask.

Yeah, the typesetting. The gutters were on the wrong edge for 'Ham on Rye' in trade paperback, but I like generous leading, healthy font size and white space on the page. If I'm aware of te typesetting, it's usually because I really like the content but the publisher used such a terrible design that I find the act of reading fatigues. 'Confederacy of Dunces' suffers from this, with a bad format and small type for the body, accompanied by the 'Big Chief' sections being in small print that rivals the inserts for prescription drugs.

The other thing with 'Pulp,' though, is it's hilarious. 'Dedicated to bad writing,' it is so far (half way through) a perfect satire on the hard-boiled detective novel. And while the writing is intentionally 'bad' (which is to say he gets at the heart of what made Chandler & Co. famous), there are some lines that are so bad they're great:

'Last dream I had I was laying under this elephant, I couldn't move and he was releasing one of the biggest turds you ever saw...' Then, reflecting on a shrinks take: 'He'll tell you that the turd is a penis and that you are frightened of it or that you want it, some crap like that. What he really means is that he is frightened or wants the penis.'

And on the next page, 'Sometimes a phone made me think of an elephant turd. You know, all the shit you hear.'

It's shit, but it's great shit.