Chapter 1: Section 4: Page 28: Line 59-62 (431-434)

 "Admiration noted—and you might examine little Dahlia here, who's the spit of her Ma, fulminate me if she ain't, fact if you're ramblin by some ten, twelve years hence, why ride on over, have another look, make an offer, no price too small or too insulting I wouldn't consider. Or if you're willing to wait, take an option now to buy, got her on special, today and tomorrow only, dollar ninety-eight takes her away, heartbreakin smile and all. Yehp—there, lookit, just like 'at. Throw you in an extra bonnet, I'm a reasonable sort, 'n' the minute she blows that sweet-sixteenth birthday candle out, why she's on them rails, express to wherever you be."

* * * * * * * * * *

"fulminate me if she ain't"
I just profess my ire that Pynchon isn't making my brain work too hard and then he brings fulmination into the picture! Yes, yes. Merle is using it here to mean "express vehement protest" (as Lindsay did early. Lindsay fulminated Merle). But "fulminate" is totally a Gravity's Rainbow word. Unless it's a later Against the Day word when we get to the chapter with the explosives. Fulminate salts are friction sensitive explosives. That's probably why the word means "vehement protest." Because the person is exploding in anger. Heck, maybe Merle is actually using fulminate to mean "blow me up if I'm lying!" It's 1893! People probably expected to be blown up if they ever wronged somebody.

"if you're ramblin by some ten, twelve years hence"
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
Because I refused to purchase a five year old girl as my future bride.

"make an offer, no price too small or too insulting"
Was it okay to sell your child in the late 1800s? I suppose children were more property than autonomous beings. I'm starting to suspect that Merle really does give Dally corn liquor on a regular basis. This guy is the definition of uncouth! And also maybe the definition of sex slaver!

"the minute she blows that sweet-sixteenth birthday candle out, why she's on them rails, express to wherever you be"
This reminds me of all the weird perverts who keep track of young actresses' birthdates so they can, um, legally say the perverse things in public that they've been saying in private for way too many years. I think the poor Olsen twins suffered from this nonsense quite a bit. I only mention the Olsen twins because it seemed so egregious. "You mean you can't wait to talk about fucking the baby from Full House? What is wrong with you?" is a conversation I never had but I'm sure many friends of pervs did. I only mention that I only mention the Olsen twins because I'm sure all young female actresses have to deal with this shit.

Chapter 1: Section 4: Page 28: Line 58 (430)

 Chick Counterfly, less affected, was alert enough to offer, "Well—an entirely admirable lady, whoever she was."

* * * * * * * * * *

When is this book going to get impossible to understand?! I just checked again and, sure enough, it says "Thomas Pynchon" on the cover! When is he going to use some highfalutin math concept that I'll never really understand to demonstrate some core principle of the hopelessness of human existence?!

Hmm, I hope you'll remember writing that bit, me, when the time comes that Pynchon finally does do that and my blog entry becomes, "What happened to the Chums of Chance and their airborne adventures around the world?! At least I could understand what was happening then!"

"less affected"
At this point, I always simply assume Chick Counterfly is less affected. By everything.

'alert enough to offer, "Well—an entirely admirable lady, whoever she was."'
Have I been socializing incorrectly my entire life? Should I be casually suggesting I fancy everybody's spouses, nonchalantly shrugging my shoulders and claiming, "If that's indeed your spouse. Whatever. So hot! I mean admirable." Then I'd wink really dramatically and pump my fist back and forth exactly three times.
    It really is the "alert enough to offer" bit that's perplexing me. Like Randolph missed the beat where he was supposed to offer a compliment because he was, once again, so terribly stupefied. How rude must people think I am after every conversation I've ever had?! And how stupefying must my expression constantly be?! I'm stupefied!

Chapter 1: Section 4: Page 28: Line 57 (429)

 "The very customer," Merle beamed, "and that beauteous conjuror's assistant you saw'd likely be ol' Erlys herself, and say, you'll want to close your mouth there, Buck, 'fore somethin flies into it?"—the casual mention of adultery having produced in Randolph's face a degree of stupefaction one regrets to term characteristic.

* * * * * * * * * *

""The very customer," Merle beamed"
Even though Zombini the Mysterious is banging his wife, Merle is still somehow proud to be associated with the famous person. If "cuck" were a word that was in my vocabulary (other than to call people who call people cucks "cucks" because they're the only ones who become outraged by it; nobody else fucking cares), I'd call Merle a cuck. But I won't because all that matters is that he's happy. Unless he's just putting on a brave face for the boys.

"likely be ol' Erlys herself"
Erlys, Merle's wife. Erlys seems to be of Welsh origin. It's the Middle English spelling of the word "earls" as in "Earls and Dukes and Viscounts and Marquesses and such." It's an anagram of "slyer," probably because she's slyer than Merle (whose name anagrams to "Elmer" and who has ever known a sly Elmer?!) which is why she cheated on him with a mesmerist.

"you'll want to close your mouth there, Buck"
A "buck" is a male goat or a male deer. I don't think it has any meaning here except as a casual way for Merle to engage Randolph and say, "Look, you're making us all uncomfortable with your reaction so could you maybe not be so dramatic. If I'm fine with it, you can be too."

"the casual mention of adultery"
Was adultery mentioned even casually? I suppose an adult woman doesn't just "run away with" an adult man the way a child runs away to the circus. You've got to assume a little hanky-panky was behind the decision, right?

"produced in Randolph's face a degree of stupefaction one regrets to term characteristic"
If I unraveled this sentence correctly, the narrator is saying that Randolph, all too often, looks stupefied. Poor kid. Shocked by all the earthly and fleshly actions of human beings. You know, the way a pure and innocent angel from Heaven might act!

Chapter 1: Section 4: Page 28: Line 53-56 (425-428)

 "Makes his molly disappear down a common kitchen funnel! 'Imbottigliata!' ain't it? then he twirls his cape? Seen it down in New Orleans with my own peepers! some awesome turn, you bet!"

* * * * * * * * * *

My assumption is that an 1800s kitchen funnel isn't much bigger than a modern kitchen funnel. I'm also assuming a kitchen funnel is basically the same thing as a regular funnel except you only use it for edibles. But (and you'll understand my problem with Chick's statement after this revelation) I also assume women were the same size in the 1800s as today (or close enough to it)! Which means I'm super impressed by Zombini the Mysterious's mesmerism. Imagine convincing a woman to stuff herself into a kitchen funnel by mere words alone! What power!

'Imbottigliata!'
Italian for "bottled." Which means you'll have to disregard all that stuff I said earlier about The Great Zamboni being from Brazil. Because they don't generally speak Italian in Brazil. They speak that other language that looks like that other language and kind of sounds like those other languages. You know the one.
    As for why Zombombi the Magnificent yells "Botttled!" after convincing a woman to smash herself through a kitchen funnel, I can only guess. I suppose she winds up in a bottle which is the reason Chick thinks the illusion is "some awesome turn." Unless by "some awesome turn," Chick is complimenting the way The Powerful Zombiezie spins in his cape. But that sounds more like something Lindsay Noseworth would be impressed by. I'm surprised Chick even noticed the cape considering Zombini the Mysterious's "molly" probably performs half-naked.

"my own peepers"
Probably Chick's eyes but could also be his chicklets. You can't rule out the possibility seeing as how people call him "Chick." That's the kind of nickname you save for somebody who runs about town with his pockets full of baby chickens, or "peepers."

Chapter 1: Section 4: Page 28: Line 52 (424)

 "Know him, by gosh!" Chick Counterfly, nodding vigorously.

* * * * * * * * * *

Chick, Merle just said Zombini stole his wife. Calm the fuck down with your fangasm.

Chapter 1: Section 4: Page 28: Line 51 (423)

 "She's out there in the U.S.A. someplace with the mesmerizin variety artist she run away with, a certain Zombini the Mysterious."

* * * * * * * * * *

"Zombini the Mysterious"
The surname Zombini is most commonly found in Brazil. It is reminiscent of "zombie" to modern audiences and probably a small percentage of Actually Nerds in 1893. So somebody seeing a poster for Zombini the Mysterious might say, "Oh! Zombini! That's Brazilian, isn't it? So mysterious!" And then her Actually Nerd friend would snort and say, "He's probably using the stage name because it is reminiscent of the word 'zumbi' meaning 'fetish' or 'nzambi,' a snake god, both originating in Africa. Both probably popularized via Brazil, though, so you have that much correct." Then his friend would look closer at the poster and say, "Oh, his name is Luca Zombini. So, you know, Brazilian, you stupid twat. I hate you."

"mesmerizin"
By 1893, mesmerism would have retained almost nothing of its supposed medical value and been seen as simply a diverting entertainment for the credulous masses. But in the first half of the century, mesmerism was being touted as the way to make surgery painless for the patient. This lasted right up until Robert Liston's first use of ether (following the experiments of James Esdaile working out of Calcutta) when a man had a leg amputated under it, woke up, and asked the doctor, "So, when are you going to cut off my leg, my good sir?" and Doctor Liston replied (apparently famously?), "This Yankee dodge, gentlemen, beats mesmerism hollow." Apparently doctors in the 1840s were hip to the groovy slang.
    I suppose I have to admit that mesmerism and hypnosis must actually work on some people if it was used to help people get through surgery without any other anesthetic. Or I could just assume that people were much tougher in the 1800s and figured, "This fucking hurts a lot but I guess it hurts less than if I hadn't been mesmerized so I should just grit my teeth and get on with it." Because I've always assumed hypnosis works because a large percentage of our population can't stand awkwardness and would rather pretend that a hypnotist hypnotized them than make the hypnotist and the audience feel uncomfortable about the hypnotist's failure. "Oh, he wants me to act like a chicken? I suppose I could act like a chicken if it would get this over with with the least amount of embarrassment all around." That's probably why they say people won't do anything they normally wouldn't do while not hypnotized. Because they're not actually hypnotized and "preventing awkwardness" is an easy second to "committing murder."

Chapter 1: Section 4: Page 28: Line 50 (422)

 "Heaven, hell," cackled Merle Rideout.

* * * * * * * * * *

That is a clever sentence, correct? Sometimes Pynchon will write a sentence which feels like he came up with it to win a bet.

"What's the shortest sentence you can write that involves both heaven and hell?" posited the WASTE employee dropping off a package.
    "Oy, that's an easy one!" cackled Pynchon in a terrible Australian accent that sounded more like Dick Van Dyke's Cockney accent from Mary Poppins.

Chapter 1: Section 4: Page 28: Line 49 (421)

 "Our deepest sympathies," Randolph hastily, "yet Heaven, in its inscrutability—"

* * * * * * * * * *

Like the reader, Randolph believes Merle's wife is dead and poor little Dally is half-orphan. Too bad he's interrupted before we discover his theories on Heaven and its inscrutability. I bet whatever he was going to say would have been a good clue to help figure out if the Chums of Chance are angels or the ghosts of dead kids.

Chapter 1: Section 4: Page 28: Line 48 (420)

 He sighed, gazing upward and into the distance.

* * * * * * * * * *

"Gazing upward and into the distance" suggests that Merle is looking towards heaven after mentioning his wife. But what else lies upward and in the distance? Aeronaut balloons! So he's just gazing out toward another place unreachable, or perhaps unknowable, to most of us. Merle's wife is simply out of reach. At least to him! "Gazing upward and into the distance" suggests that she is not out of reach to the Chums of Chance. Will they locate her later?! Only people who have read this book know for sure and I'm not one of them.

Chapter 1: Section 4: Page 28: Line 43-47 (415-419)

 "Ha! D'ye hear that, Carrot-head? Thinks I'm your grandpa. Thank you, lad, but this here is my daughter Dahlia, I'm proud to say. Her mother, alas—"

* * * * * * * * * *

I figured Merle Rideout's companion, Chevrolette McAdoo, was Irish but I really didn't have any idea what kind of a surname "Rideout" was. But here he uses "ye" and his daughter has flaming red hair (which we knew already! I'm just putting all the evidence in one place after finding the "ye" clue).

"my daughter Dahlia"
Maybe her mother was Scandinavian and chose the name Dahlia which means "Dahl's Flower" after some botanist named Dahl but then Dahl means dale so it might as well just mean the flower of the dale as well. It could also be from the Hebrew, Dalyah, which means "flowering branch." Those are fairly similar so we'll just assume either of these meanings can be interpreted the same way: she's a kind of flower which suggests she thrives in sunlight and out in the open and is pretty and smells good.

A third possible origin of Dahlia's name is Dalia, the goddess of fate from Baltic mythology. This is my favorite possibility because Dalia oversees the proper distribution of material wealth. Maybe it doesn't add up because of the different spelling and because the popularity of the spelling "Dalia" only came about in the late 20th century. But it fits the themes of this book which was published in 2006 so maybe Pynchon was influenced by the popularity of this name in the previous decade. Whatever the case, she's named after somebody who would probably look down on America and think, "Blasphemers. Look at how they distribute wealth in that country. All wrong! I should smite them."

"Her mother, alas—"
Spoiler: she's not dead. That's not really much of a spoiler because the reader finds out she's not dead in just a few more sentences. It's only a spoiler if you're reading along with me one line at a time so you didn't automatically read the reveal almost instantaneously after reading the hint that she might be dead. I know she's not dead because I've actually read the entire first chapter of this book already. It seems like cheating but when I first started this blog, I thought, "Well, I'm not going to spend nine years actually reading this book for the first time one sentence at a time with constant interruptions by my own rambling brain. I'll just read ahead when I'm not willing to write." But then the smarter part of me said, "Bullshit. If you read ahead and finish this book while doing the blog, you'll never fucking finish the blog. You'd better stop reading, idiot." And since that was a suggestion from the smarter part of my brain, I stopped reading ahead.

Chapter 1: Section 4: Page 28: Line 42 (414)

 "You are the proud grandfather, of course."

* * * * * * * * * *

Merle must look older than I realized. Although how am I expected to visualize any character when Pynchon mostly doesn't care to give a detailed description of most of them?! Usually Pynchon is, "This character is named Slovenbraut Tinkydorf. You can imagine what they looked like with that name, right?!"

Although Randolph is just a kid, basically, and to young people, even thirty year olds seem like old farts.

With all the controversy surrounding the podcast Reply All, and after having listened to it for years, I only recently saw what PJ and Alex looked like and I have to say: "I'm terrible at picturing what people look like based on their voices." So far off. Not even close. Never would have guessed!

Chapter 1: Section 4: Page 28: Line 41 (413)

 "A fine-looking little girl, sir," Randolph, brimming with avuncularity.

* * * * * * * * * *

I swear these first few sections focusing on the Chums of Chance are just Pynchon fucking with his readers. He's all, "Here you go! A story that reads like a regular old story with a regular old plot with regular old characters with funny names! Just 1000 pages of easy peasy lemon squeezy stuff like this! I learned my lesson with Gravity's Rainbow! I'm an easy read now!" Then after a few dozen pages . . . WHAM! Here's some shit about the physical qualities of light! Here's some tough mathematical concepts! Here's how photography changed the way we viewed the world in much the same way as the Gutenberg press!"

I don't really know about any of that but I suspect it's all coming! I can tell all of this regular plot is just lulling me into a false sense of security. Pretty soon I'll be walking right into the punji pit!

"brimming with avuncularity"
Yes, it's a weird statement to say a person is brimming with the attributes of an uncle. But Thomas Pynchon is a weird guy. I suppose I could just read it as brimming with kindness and generosity but Pynchon chooses his words with care! He wants us to picture Randolph as an uncle. He's a person of authority but not so much that you can't sass him and he'll mostly play along. Lindsay is the dad! Miles is the mom. Darby is the child. And Chick is the cool guy in the leather jacket who owns a motorcycle and lives upstairs where you can hear him banging chicks all day long.

How come that was never an episode of Happy Days? Where none of the Cunninghams can get any sleep because Fonzi is always fucking so loud?

Chapter 1: Section 4: Page 27: Line 39-40 (411-412)

 "This cannot be," he muttered. "Small children hate me."

* * * * * * * * * *

It isn't just small children, Noseworthy.

Here's why small children hate Lindsay: he's a control freak. It's why he's the master-at-arms of the ship. He loves rules because he fears chaos. If all rules are being followed, nothing bad can transpire. And who are the worst, most chaotic creatures? Small children. So Lindsay almost certainly ruins all of the fun being had by any children in his vicinity by shutting down whatever game they're playing due to rules and regulations not permitting their gambits and gambols. But this kid has just met him so she's interested! Especially since he was acting like such a clown over Merle's alcohol joke.

Have I mentioned previously how the name "Noseworthy" suggests a brown-noser? I probably did!

Chapter 1: Section 4: Page 27: Line 38 (410)

 Lindsay blinked.

* * * * * * * * * *

Blinking is a sign of hesitation, a thing we haven't really seen from Lindsay before. Maybe in his grudging admiration for Miles Blundell's psychic seizure at the Fair. But that was not about a sudden lack of confidence or being unsure about his present predicament like this. That was just Lindsay not really wanting to say something nice to Blundell but being so overwhelmed with awe that he couldn't really stop himself. Here, he has stopped short and must assess the situation. Why is this little girl showing interest in him?

Chapter 1: Section 4: Page 27: Line 37 (409)

Dally, intrigued, ran over and stood in front of him, peering up, as if waiting for the next part of some elaborate joke.

* * * * * * * * * *

 Even a five year old thinks Lindsay must be putting on the act of a silly man, spewing his stick-up-the-butt nonsense to whoever is trying desperately not to listen. Dally is my kind of human being. She would have understood my hyperbolic anger used for comic effect in my comic book blog. Oh, sure, at first I was pretty earnest! Some readers (who I must have eventually disappointed) loved the blog because it was so free of cynicism and snark. Because I wanted to love DC's The New 52. I wanted it to mean something! I wanted the change to have been thought out. I wanted drama and stories that were telling some kind of coherent story within their new universe. I thought there would be monumental changes! Exciting new avenues to explore in the stale and old personalities that couldn't be changed due to years of continuity! But eventually I realized it was all a sham and DC had hired some of the worst writers for their project and even the editors didn't give a damn. It broke me! It was the last time I was eager and earnest and full of wonder at what the world could offer! But it didn't give me what I expected. It gave me a pie in the face and an atomic wedgie. So of course I got angry! Of course I got cynical! Any sane person would have done the same! But, as Dally would have realized, I was never really angry. My life wasn't so invested in DC Comics that I was giving myself three strokes a week reading Lobdell and Nocenti comics.

One time, Marcus To discovered one of my Batwing reviews where I drilled him a new asshole due to his cover. In his post about how he'd never had a negative review like that, he mentioned how one of his friends thought it was funny in how angry I was. Yes! That was the point, Marcus To's friend! And here's how I ended that review, by the way:

"Ha ha! Look at how much I can bitch and still enjoy reading a comic book! What the fuck is wrong with me?"

But really, I can't blame anybody who thought my blog was reviewing comic books seriously. At some point in the 2000s, people forgot that the Internet was meant for fun and whimsy. Now everybody thinks everything is an argument. Being facetious on the Internet is almost a high crime these days! And I'm not talking about being facetious about things like race or gender; I usually treat that stuff seriously because, as Kurt Vonnegut writes in Mother Night, "We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend." I don't mind being a super angry super fan of comic books (which I'm not; I really am just pretending at that! Stupid Vonnegut! Take it back!) but I won't participate in racism or sexism by pretending to be a Nazi asshole! Who thinks that's funny?! No, what I'm talking about is going on a huge rant about how terrible Superboy might be in a comic that's written terribly by a terrible writer only to have huge Superboy stans constantly yell at me for criticizing their fictional love boy!

Um, you know what, never mind this entry! I'll get back to Against the Day in the next post!

Chapter 1: Section 4: Page 27: Line 36 (408)

 "Sir, one must protest!"

* * * * * * * * * *

"One must protest all common men who might
give poison to a child. One must contest
all use of slang. One must protest all spite
engendered by protesting all unrest.
Sir. SIR, I say. One must protest the sight
of shirts untucked, unpolished shoes, and messed
up beds left long unmade. One must, despite
all threats, protest all sins left unconfessed.
One must protest against the day, the light
that shines on only some. One must attest
to those unseen long covered by the night.
One must protest all those who won't protest.
One must protest the ones who close their eyes,
Who choose to dismiss truth and feast on lies."

Chapter 1: Section 4: Page 27: Line 35 (407)

 "You have been poisoning this helpless angel with strong drink?" cried Lindsay Noseworth.

* * * * * * * * * *

Oh, pardon me! I guess even in 1893, people existed who can't understand facetiousness. Or maybe I'm the one who can't understand earnestness?! It is 1893, after all. Corn liquor was probably marketed as "the healthy way to put your baby to bed!" Lindsay might be ahead of his time in understanding that maybe you shouldn't be funneling high percentage alcoholic beverages down the throats of young children. That's what opium is for.

No, I've got to believe that, in this case, Lindsay has misinterpreted the tone of the statement. Merle seems a bit informal and jolly. He's just making a joke about his girl yelling "I need a drink!" the way an alcoholic adult would yell it whenever they enter a room. But Lindsay, whom I think I mentioned might be dealing with Asperger's (or I might have just thought it every time I read any of his dialogue), can't parse sarcasm or whimsical humor. He is the Spock insert character, after all.

"helpless angel"
All children are angels because they are innocent and good. Also they are helpless because they're so small and fragile and innocent and good. Unless that child is Punky Brewster. I bet the pitch for that show was, "Imagine this: a child who is not an angel nor helpless!" The collective gasps of the people in that meeting probably blew out a window.

"with strong drink"
Lindsay seems to be implying, with the use of the modifier "strong," that weak drink is acceptable and not at all a poison of helpless angels.

Chapter 1: Section 4: Page 27: Line 34 (406)

 The child, meanwhile, having caught sight of the Chums in their summer uniforms, stood gazing, her eyes wide, as if deciding how well behaved she ought to be.

* * * * * * * * * *

Can a four or five year old decide how well behaved they're going to be? Isn't that like expecting a cat to behave properly when guests drop by and not to wave their pink butthole in the guest's faces? Aren't five year olds simply themselves with no real thought or consideration? This Dally must be pretty mature for her age. The definition of maturity is being able to choose not to be an annoying asshole. Children often can't make this choice; adults nearly as often can't either.

"Chums in their summer uniforms"
Remember, the Chums basically look like Stripesy from DC Comics:

But my assumption is that they're wearing short pants. And the fitted shirt is actually a blazer. And they probably wear their underwear under their short trousers.

Chapter 1: Section 4: Page 27: Line 33 (405)

 "Dally, ya little weasel," Merle greeted her, "the corn liquor's all gone, I fear, it'll have to be back to the old cow juice for you, real sorry," as he went rummaging in a patent dinner pail filled with ice.

* * * * * * * * * *

In 1893, a father could make a joke about his daughter being an alcoholic without garnering, from nearby witnesses, the kinds of looks usually reserved for a person cannibalizing another person. Even in 1993, you may have gotten away with it, although at least one person would have to exclaim, "You're so bad!" To which you could have responded, "Me?! She's the one with the drinking problem!" You could still make this joke today, as well, of course, but you have to know your audience. Even if the audience is composed of the kind of people who would side-eye and tut-tut a stranger making this kind of joke in public, they'll almost certainly accept as fine and dandy if they know you. That's the main problem with people judging everybody else immediately and on the flimsiest of experiences in this new online world. Most people judge strangers in the harshest context imaginable, barely being able to imagine giving the benefit of the doubt to somebody they've never met before. The main problem is that we just have too much access to too many people now. Somebody online can tell a stupid, throwaway family story about a can of beans, forgetting that the audience for the story is millions of people with no context of anything except the words on the screen, and they'll roast you for it because, obviously, the worst take they can imagine must be the truth.

"cow juice"
Anybody who uses the phrase "cow juice" is a literal monster and should be burned at the stake. Gonna go on Twitter and search "cow juice" and harangue everybody whom I find using it!

"a patent dinner pail"
I guess this was a pail built to hold dinners and keep them cool which was also patented. This is the kind of amazing insights you won't find on other Against the Day wikis. They'd probably ignore this sentence altogether, not realizing that really dumb people might need help clarifying this book too.

 "filled with ice"
I began trying to research when humans began to generate their own ice rather than chipping it off of mountains and glaciers and frozen rivers and shipping it all over the world but there were just too many steps to the process and I easily became bored trying to figure it out. Unless the first commercial ice maker was developed in 1854. Which probably means Laura Ingalls was still getting natural ice shipped from some frozen river up north out of the ice shed while Nellie Oleson was filling her root beers with fancy ice purchased by some manufacturer.

Chapter 1: Section 4: Page 27: Line 31-32 (403-404)

 "Say, Pa! I need a drink!"

* * * * * * * * * *

This girl is four or five and she can talk?! I should probably learn more about children and their major accomplishments for each year of life. I think when they're two, they understand when you steal their nose but they're too dumb to realize you didn't actually steal it and will scream in terror if you try to leave without giving it back. By three, they've probably learned to feel their face and think, "Wait. I still have my nose. Is that guy an idiot?" By four, they're all, "That's your thumb, you stupid prick. It doesn't even look like a nose. Get out of the way, you dinosaur." By five, they apparently know when they're thirsty, according to Pynchon's book. By six, they learn to roll their eyes and make jerking off motions with their hands whenever an adult speaks. By seven, they can sharpen spears and growl ferociously. By eight, they remind you every day of their life from that point on that your future is over and it's their world now.

Chapter 1: Section 4: Page 27: Line 30 (402)

 An attractive little girl of four or five with flaming red hair was running toward them at high speed.

* * * * * * * * * *

"An attractive little girl"
The phrase "an attractive little girl" sounds like something that should be saved for the sequel to Lolita. It's making me uncomfortable! I suppose it's an innocent thing to say and my issue with it says more about how disgusting I am but what can I do? I've already put the thought out there! I would have said "adorable" or "cute" or "pre-sexy."

"flaming red hair"
She must be Irish, right? Don't only Irish people have flaming red hair in 1893?

"running toward them at high speed"
How fast could this speed have been? She's only four or five! I bet I could beat her in a foot race.

Chapter 1: Section 4: Page 27: Line 29 (401)

 "Pa!"

* * * * * * * * * *

"Pa!"
Father. Dad. Generally a nickname for the male parent. Popularized by Laura Ingalls in Little House on the Prairie.

Mentioning the television version of Laura Ingalls demands that I point out that she's one of my favorite characters from television. Not because she was a sweet little independent girl full of gumption and perseverance but because she was a right little selfish asshole. Sure, Nellie Olsen was played as the villain, and rightfully so, for she is not only a jerk as well but also a rich jerk, the worst kind. But Laura was a terror who caused so much trouble usually due to her exceeding desire to sate her own wants and passions. She was my childhood hero.

Chapter 1: Section 4: Page 27: Line 28 (400)

 A fellow scarcely knew after a while where to look—

* * * * * * * * * *

The "fellow" in this line is probably a reader of Pynchon. And all of the various mechanical flying contraptions are the themes within his books. Pynchon is showing us that while his themes are extravagantly different from each other, one to the next, they still all relate in one key way: they are all flying machines.

I don't mean to suggest all of his themes are about flying! That was just part of the analogy or metaphor inherent in the subtext of Merle's observation! I don't know, exactly, what the relationship of all of the themes Pynchon is exploring might be. I don't even know what all of the themes are! I've pointed out a few, like light and labor rights and imperialism and racism and Star Trek and technology. But I haven't read the entire book so I'm probably missing a lot of them. But even if I had read the entire book, I'd still probably miss a lot of themes because they concern aspects of life to which I'm barely attuned. Plus, I'd probably not know how they all relate seeing as how I've read Gravity's Rainbow one and a half times (at the moment! It'll soon be two! I swear it!) and I don't think I'd be able to explain it very well. It has something to do with escaping the system by somehow extricating yourself from the eyes and ears of the powers that be, of somehow accepting that you'll never know or control everything and maybe you just need to make peace with that. It has something to do with shoving your sex slave into a rocket and blasting him into oblivion wrapped in a material that might have been used to give a poor little baby a hard-on decades earlier. Whatever it's about, it's a fantastic read and worth it simply because every section is like a short story delving into the philosophy of some aspect of modern life. I'm not sure you even need to read the book straight through to truly enjoy it.

Anyway, the fellow scarcely knowing where to look after a while is just a person reading and trying to understand the newest Pynchon novel. It's as obvious as Pugnax being a Scrappy Doo insert.

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 There were steamers, electrics, Maxim whirling machines, ships powered by guncotton reciprocators and naphtha engines, and electrical lifting-screws of strange hyperboloidal design for drilling upward through the air, and winged aerostats, of streamlined shape, and wing-flapping miracles of ornithurgy.

* * * * * * * * * *

Imagine, if you will, a description of a sex orgy. It'd be pretty much the same, right?!

"steamers"
Steam-powered flying machines. This is not the same as Piers Anthony's use of "steamers" which mean a kind of dragon that breathes steam. It is also not the same as the steamer used in the phrase "Cleveland steamer" which is something that Brigadier Pudding is probably into.

"electrics"
Machines powered by electricity. I know I don't need to be describing or defining these for anybody; they're pretty obvious! But you'll be thanking me when we get to the hyperboloidal what-nots and the naphtha doohickeys. By 1893, quite a few different kinds of batteries had already been invented. I don't know how heavy they would be versus the amount of power they could generate but then none of that really matters here. This is that part of Pynchon's fiction that reminds the reader that this is not quite historical fiction but fiction awash in a constant stream of well-researched history.

"Maxim whirling machines"
This is probably where I should just start posting pictures, especially because of the word "Maxim." Oh baby, this is going to be a sexy flying machine! Except that I can only find pictures of Maxim's later flying machines that didn't whirl at all and were built after 1893. It seems the "whirling machines" were a prototype design of his father's (who, I'm assuming, was also a Maxim! So I'm just writing about the wrong Maxim, I guess?) which used "two counter-rotating rotors" but, at the time, there was no engine strong enough to provide lift for the machine. Hiram Maxim (the son!) provided a sketch for this machine in 1872 but never went about building it. I guess some other aeronauts in Pynchon's novel took the bull by the horns and built some themselves. By 1893, there were quite a few engines to choose from to power your fictional helicopter. I mean whirling machine!

"guncotton reciprocators"
This would be a kind of engine that uses cylinders propelled by guncotton. Guncotton is cotton soaked in nitric acid so that it instead of burning slowly like a regular piece of cotton, it goes up in a quick burst of energy. It was mostly used as a replacement for gunpowder. As for being used in engines, my quick and dirty research (you know, reading the Wikipedia article exclusively) didn't turn up anything except that Jules Verne used it as a propellant in From Earth to the Moon. So once again, Pynchon is looking toward science fiction writers of the time to fill his own little historical science fiction novel with "what if this stuff really existed" ideas. This returns to my theory that Pynchon's world in Against the Day is one where natural laws match humanity's belief of them and literally change only after a scientist disproves what was believed. So the world surrounding 1893 is one that is changing dramatically as science and technology continue to disprove old beliefs and establish new scientifically proven models of the world and the universe.

"naphtha engines"
Naphtha is a flammable liquid hydrocarbon mixture. It's a pretty old source of liquid fuel, describing various types of petroleum fuels used across different cultures throughout civilization. If I hadn't already admitted to being a complete ignoramus, it would have been surprising that I'd never heard of this ancient fuel. These "naphtha engines" were probably used for the more rocket-like flying machines, would be my idiotic guess.

"electrical lifting-screws of strange hyperboloidal design for drilling upward through the air"
Most of us can probably picture a flying machine shaped like a screw. But these specific flying machines are hyperboloidal in shape which means they're shaped like a rotating hyperbola. That just means they look like a more aerodynamic spool for thread.

So this but imagine if it were carved out like a screw so the air could sluice through it as it turned, propelling it upward. Like a drill through the air!

"winged aerostats"
Like Icarus! But more successful.

"wing-flapping miracles of ornithurgy"

This is Otto Lelienthal from 1894. So Merle is probably seeing a bunch of these weirdos flapping about the place. Admittedly more successfully than poor Otto here, being that this is a work of fiction.

This is my favorite Ornithopter. In the early days of Magic the Gathering, I'd estimate that 95% of all the decks I made revolved around this little guy, the Millstone, or Power Leak.

I managed to get through this entire post without mentioning one of my favorite cartoons as a kid, Dick Dastardly and Muttley in their Flying Machines, also known by many as Catch That Pigeon.

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 Against the sun as yet low across the Lake, wings cast long shadows, their edges luminous with dew.

* * * * * * * * * *

"Against the sun" comes mighty close to Against the Day. Should I be squealing with joy?! Is this where the title comes from? No, no! I won't allow myself the luxury of accepting it that easily since it's obviously different. The sun is not day even if they're intrinsically bound together.

This scene, even though simply a brief description, reminds me of the moment in Gravity's Rainbow when Slothrop and Geli watch their shadows extend across Germany with the rising sun behind them. Pynchon obviously loves this interplay between light and dark, and the way the edges of darkness are lit up the most, the suns rays arcing past the obstacle to light up the morning dew. It's a radiant image.

I wonder what meaning can be garnered by images Pynchon evokes time and time again, across multiple books. Is there any greater meaning than that he just loves these particular images? Another he uses in this book and Mason & Dixon is the star splattered pattern across a landscape, either by, as in Against the Day, dropped and exploded sandbags across the plains, or by, as in Mason & Dixon, snowballs lobbed against the sides of barns and the sides of cousins.

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 Far-off sounds of railway traffic and lake navigation came in on the wind.

* * * * * * * * * *

What is the sound of lake navigation? Lookouts yelling from the mast? Sails whipping in the wind? Oh, maybe steam engines chugging. So kind of the same sound as railway traffic, minus the clacking of metal wheels on metal rails, I suppose. Both would have steam whistles because you can't have a steam engine without using some of that steam to make a loud, high-pitched, annoying noise!

The important part of this sentence is how the sounds came in on the wind, just like the balloons. Air travel is the travel of nature and the future! Unless the most important part of the sentence is simply the word "came" because, remember, this seems to be a metaphor for a huge sex orgy.

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 Babies could be heard in both complaint and celebration.

* * * * * * * * * *

What in the hell? When did babies become a part of this story?! Does this mean a bunch of these balloons are actually separatist civilizations?! The indication is that the occupants of these balloons are not necessarily youngsters, although, I suppose, teenagers do have children, especially in older times.

Perhaps the mention of babies crying and giggling at sun-up is meant to say how quiet it is otherwise. People waking up over breakfast, having their morning coffees, sitting in quiet contemplation . . . the only disturbance would be those damned babies.

Unless all the lifting and landing of balloons was a sex metaphor earlier! And the babies are a result! This balloon convention is just a gigantic sex orgy, isn't it?! Like an SCA event!

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 The smoke from breakfast campfires rose fragrantly through the air.

* * * * * * * * * *

The entire place probably smells like burning wood and bacon, two wonderful natural smells that might be the most hideous and disgusting of smells when mankind tries to artificially reproduce them. I still don't understand how anybody thinks "bacon-flavored" anything has any relationship to the actual taste of bacon.

Speaking of artificial things that don't taste like the actual thing, I used to wonder, as a kid, why banana-flavored candy tasted so wonderful and yet tasted nothing like bananas. And then I learned about the Gros Michel banana and how it basically went "commercially extinct" in the 60s. So the bananas I've eaten my entire life, the Cavendish, do not taste like banana-flavored candy. The candy is only somewhat reminiscent of a real banana and much, much tastier. So did Gros Michel bananas taste like banana flavoring?! Probably more so than the Cavendish but I'm sure, like most artificial flavors (especially those developed over a hundred years ago), it's not exact. Apparently the thing we think of as banana flavor was initially thought of as pear flavor in Great Britain back when the flavor was developed. If you want to learn more about banana monoculture or the creation of artificial flavors, visit your local library!

"Guaranteed to start conversation" doesn't assure it's going to be a good conversation. Maybe one that begins, "What the fuck are these disgusting appetizers, you monster?!"

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 "Some social, ain't it! Why, every durn professor of flight from here to Timbuctoo's flying in, 's what it looks like."

* * * * * * * * * *

If this were a Nicholson Baker novel, I'd expect this to be a metaphor for a writing convention. But it's Pynchon so it's probably a metaphor for penises. Although, what if all of Nicholson Baker's sex and penis references that were metaphors for writing were just double metaphors coming back around to penises and sex?! Now I want to re-read The Everlasting Story of Nory!

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 Merle Rideout had brought a hand camera with him, and was taking "snaps" of the flying machines, aloft and parked on the ground, which were continuing to arrive and take off with no apparent letup.

* * * * * * * * * *

"a hand camera"
When I think of 19th century cameras, I picture a thing that looks like an accordion on a tripod which the photographer mans from behind under a black cloth while holding up a bulb to light the flash and snap the picture. But apparently there were hand cameras which were basically the same thing except without the tripod. And there was no need for a black cloth because the entire thing was usually housed in a box with a nice leather handle for easy carrying.

See? Pretty much the same thing!

"taking "snaps" of the flying machines"
I definitely didn't realize "roll film" was a thing by the late 1800s. But that's all due to my ignorance of the history of cameras and film and also thinking that Hollywood movies were a decent enough way to pick up that information.
    "Snap" is of course a shortening of the term "snapshot," meaning a quick shot with a gun at a quickly moving target. It's easy to see how it was picked up as photography slang. As with other versions of slang used by Pynchon previously, the quotes around the slang term indicate it's a fairly new usage for 1893.

This scene with Merle Rideout taking photos of the many ships coming and going can probably fuel a critical book by somebody with a specific focus and pet peeve and also maybe hobby horse or, at the extreme possibility, a serious crotchet. But since I don't have any of those things, I'm struggling to decide what the ships coming and going might represent. Party goers speaking of some farty Renaissance sculptor, maybe?

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 "I'll certainly put in a good word," said Chevrolette.

* * * * * * * * * *

She's not going to put in a good word.

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 "I am only an amateur, of course," Miles, though long a member of the prestigious International Academy of Ukulelists, said modestly, "and get lost now and then. But if I promised to go back to the tonic and wait, do you think they'd let me come and sit in?"

* * * * * * * * * *

I thought by saying "go back to the tonic," Miles was saying something like "I'll give up my vices to get back into proper playing shape." But apparently a "tonic" is some kind of music terminology dealing with the primary scale or something. I don't know music or music lingo at all. Trying to understand music theory, to me, is like trying to understand a foreign language if the person trying to understand it doesn't actually care about it at all and is super lazy.
    It's weird that Miles is trying to land a guest gig with the band of a dancer at the Fair when he's already got a job flying around the world exploring strange new civilizations where no boy has gone before. Or maybe it's not weird? Is this how normal people engage in the world around them? They see an opportunity to take part in something they love to do and they simply ask a person involved if they can also be involved? Hunh. That makes sense! I suppose I managed to do this once or twice in my life. Like when I saw that guy selling LSD in the parking lot of The Grateful Dead concert and I simply went up to him and said, "I would like to buy some LSD too!" And also when I saw all those nerds playing Magic the Gathering in the back of the hobby store, I walked straight in and said, "I would like to participate in your nerd league posthaste!" I then complimented five of them on their fedoras and they were all, "Join us, good sir!" And I did!

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 "More of a medley, I believe, encompassing Hawaiian and Philippino motifs, and concluding with a very tasteful adaptation of Monsieur Saint-Saëns's wonderful 'Bacchanale,' as recently performed at the Paris Opera."

* * * * * * * * * *

This reads like a clue on how to read Gravity's Rainbow so that a reader might understand what's happening in the fourth part, "The Counterforce." But you have to replace "Hawaiian and Philippino motifs" with "German and British and American motifs" and replace "concluding with a very tasteful adaptation of Monsieur Saint-Saëns's wonderful 'Bacchanale'" with some other work which I can't name because I'm still having a lot of trouble with "The Counterforce." It might be something less high brow artsy and could simply be "concluding with a disgustingly lowbrow and hallucinogenic adaptation of Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster's 'Action Comics #1.'" I mean, a guy is shoved into a rocket and launched away from a world that seemed to be ending.

"tasteful adaptation of Monsieur Saint-Saëns's wonderful 'Bacchanale,'"
I just listened to this piece and now I'm picturing Pynchon listening to it and thinking, "I could see a woman practically stripping to this!" The opening movement and a few other movements within are evocative of "The Streets of Cairo," also known as the Snake Charmer's song, which became synonymous with belly dancing or the hoochie coochie. 

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 "And is it authentic native music?"

* * * * * * * * * *

What Miles is asking without knowing he's asking it because he's living in 1893 is, "Do you have native Hawaiians in your band or are you a cultural appropriating scum-bag?" Of course he would have been using the term "scum-bag" to mean "a bag used in the refining of sugar" and not in "a condom." Also people almost certainly weren't referring to other people as "scum-bags" in 1893. All of this is to say that this book was written in 2006 so Pynchon was probably hinting at the idea of whiteness appropriating foreign native arts and ideas as their own in the only way an 1893 kid could: being truly passionate about Hawaiian music and wanting to know if Miss McAdoo's band reproduced it authentically. This entire bit about ukuleles and a white woman dancing foreign dances is a continuation of Pynchon's examination of the Chicago World's Fair and how it treated non-white arts and cultures. They were things to be curious about and maybe admire on their own merits, divorced from the context of the culture which created them, because looking too deeply at the culture and the people and how these arts and creations came to the shores of the white men bring up too many questions with nearly only depressing answers.

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 "There are several ukulelists in my pit-band," said Miss McAdoo, "tenor, baritone, and soprano."

* * * * * * * * * *

I'm sorry but all of this talk about ukuleles has caused me to slit my wrists. I probably need medical attention. I hope neither the paramedics nor the ambulance driver are hipsters who can't stop themselves from taking their ukuleles to work but I am in Portland so there's only like a ten percent chance of that not happening.

"tenor, baritone, and soprano"
Thanks to Pynchon, I now know there are more variants of the ukulele than the standard soprano. It's possible somebody once tried to explain this to me but I simply heard them saying, "Blah blah blah blah blah." Like that Uber driver that one time I took Uber when my friend was in town and they had the ability to use a smart phone to coerce a person needing extra money to survive into being our designated driver and the guy's name was Brent and he had a ukulele in the car and he graciously invited us to play it if we wanted. Or maybe the barista at the local cafe who heard somebody say the word "ukulele" and then was all "Oh, you play too?" and, well, I can't tell you what was said after that because a high-pitched tonal note descended upon my skull for the next five minutes and my eyes went all white and cloudy and I might have gotten a message from a long dead ancestor. Or maybe somebody at my bank once mentioned it seeing as how their front window is covered in stickered words that are supposed to describe living in Portland and I'm pretty sure one of those words is "ukulele."

Chapter 1: Section 4: Page 27: Line 13 (385)

 "I greatly admire the music of the region," said Miles, "the ukulele in particular."

* * * * * * * * * *

Miles is a fat, clumsy hipster who might also have epilepsy. He would have such a huge following on Instagram.

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 "I perform the Dance of Lava-Lava, the Volcano Goddess," she replied.

* * * * * * * * * *

I guess I have to imagine what that dance might be. It's probably a version of the Hula but with more audience casualties.

That was my polite society definition of the dance. My vulgar interpretation uses words like "eruptions" and "ruined" and "pants."

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 "You are an artiste, Miss McAdoo?"

* * * * * * * * * *

This is a thing writers do that I think should be done more often but constantly frustrates me: they don't attribute a line of dialogue to any speaker. Usually they do it because it should be obvious and nobody wants to read same speaking attribution over and over again. Sometimes they do it because they're Gertrude Stein and they just don't give a fuck. If I had to guess who was saying this, I'd say it was Chick Counterfly because he's the one who engaged with Merle and Chevrolette. But all the Chums of Chance are in the scene! This sounds like something Lindsay would say with a hint of disgust and judgment in his voice. Or it could be Randolph trying to change the tone a bit by lifting the discussion of Miss McAdoo's dancing from vulgar to cultural. But it's probably just Chick continuing to slather on the flattery.

"artiste"
You're an artist without an 'e' if you engage in activities that can be discussed in polite society. You're an artist with an 'e' if you're practically naked while doing your art. I'm pretty sure that's the standard definition. Comments for this post are turned off.

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 "Makes Little Egypt look like a church lady."

* * * * * * * * * *

Little Egypt

Church Lady

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 "And you haven't seen the turn she does down to that South Seas Pavilion yet," declared Merle Rideout gallantly.

* * * * * * * * * *

Is it really gallant to say, "And you should see her shimmy with less clothes on!"

Hmm, probably!

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 "Nice put-together," Chick nodded admiringly.

* * * * * * * * * *

Chick is the only member of the Chums of Chance willing to compliment Miss McAdoo. Perhaps it's an uncouth attempt at flattery but does that matter? It's a compliment in an appropriate situation. It's brave, actually! He's putting himself out there! Is he being honest based on his previous description of Chevrolette's style of sleeves as balloons? Or is he just thinking, "This woman was running about naked so I need to get on her good side!"?

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 Fully attired, she seemed to have just stepped out of a ladies' magazine, her ensemble this forenoon right at the vanguard of summer fashion, the current revival of the leg-of-mutton sleeve having resulted in a profusion of shirtwaists with translucent shoulders "big as balloons, all over town"—as Chick Counterfly, a devoted observer of the female form, would express it—in Miss McAdoo's case, saturated in a vivid magenta, and accompanied by a long ostrich-feather boa dyed the same shade. And her hat, roguishly atilt, egret plumes swooping each time she moved her head, would have charmed even the most zealous of conservationist bird-lovers.

* * * * * * * * * *

I'm keeping these two sentences together to keep the description of Miss McAdoo's clothing in one entry.

"Fully attired, she seemed to have just stepped out of a ladies' magazine"
The "fully attired" part means it's no ladies' magazine I've ever read!

I'm not much on discussing fashion so I don't have a lot to say here. I've given the description of Chevrolette to the Non-Certified Spouse so hopefully she'll draw her interpretation of it and I'll add it to this post as an update.

"vivid magenta"
I sort of stalled in my immediate re-reading of Gravity's Rainbow but I will get back to it soonish. I mention that here because "magenta and green" was a recurring color pattern in that novel which I have yet to get a handle on. I'm hoping I'll discover something during my second reading. I was surprised when I read "magenta" here and Pynchon didn't follow it up with some green article of clothing.

One strange aspect of Pynchon's writing is how he'll fill a description with intricate details concerning one or two aspects of the scene but then he'll leave out a whole lot more. So here we get some solid details on Miss McAdoo's sleeves and the feathers on her hat. But we don't get a description of the clothing attached to the sleeves or the hat attached to the feathers. By describing scenes this way, Pynchon asks the reader to focus on specific aspects of his story which must mean something, right?!

Why would we be asked to think about her sleeves only? I guess because they remind Chick of balloons and the Chums of Chance ride in a balloon? Maybe it's as if the women are observers floating about the city on balloon sleeves! And the feathers in the hat remind the reader of birds and birds fly! So Pynchon is removing all the detail from the woman's dress except that which reminds the reader of flight. Except for the ostrich boa which is a reminder of the exact opposite: a bird that can't fly. But even a suggestion of non-flight suggests flight in the way any mention of one thing automatically suggests the opposite.

"would have charmed even the most zealous of conservationist bird-lovers"
There's hyperbole and then there's just plain old ridiculousness, Pynchon! No wait! Hyperbole is the act of making a statement hyper-ridiculous. We understand how charming Miss McAdoo looks in her feathered hat purely because Pynchon expresses the unbelievable statement that avian conservationists would accept the destruction of birds because she wears this feathered hat so well.

I hope I used the adjective "avian" correctly in the previous paragraph because I meant to say a conservationist who was concerned with saving birds and not a conservationist who was themselves a bird.

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 The young woman directed a graceful kick which was not, however, altogether lacking in affection, and said, "I'm Chevrolette McAdoo, and mighty pleased to meet you fellows, even if you did nearly sandbag us into the beyond yesterday."

* * * * * * * * * *

Hopefully everybody has been lucky enough to be kicked flirtatiously by a young woman at some point in their lives, even if the woman's name is as crazy as Chevrolette McAdoo. If one were to translate the young woman's name from French and Irish to English, it would be something like "Little Goat Black Hound." 'McAdoo' is the anglicized spelling of the Irish 'Mac Conduibh.' It probably makes sense if you were some non-Irish guy asking for the Irish person's name and then scribbled down, to the best of your English or American ears, what you thought you had heard. Other ways 'Mac Conduibh' was anglicized: 'Cunniff' or 'McNiff.' So it really depended on how thick the accent was and how thick the non-Irish person recording the name they just heard.

Chevrolette is just a cute way to say Ms. McAdoo is horny like a little goat, I suspect. She definitely kicks like one. But why a black hound? Hounds are known for sniffing out rabbits. They were also known for crying all of the time and not being a good friend and also not catching rabbits, I guess? Maybe Elvis just didn't understand how to do metaphors.

You know what? Forget Elvis's description. He obviously didn't know anything about hound dogs. He's just all, "You cry all the time like a baying hound dog but my metaphor falls apart in all of the other ways which I should point out in the rest of the lyrics of this song."

I'm sure I'll find out why she's such a hound dog later!

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 "You bean-brain."

* * * * * * * * * *

When you can't think of some piece of knowledge which you know you know, it's called a "brain fart." "Bean-brain" is just the polite, Victorian era version of the same thing. Because, like every toddler knows, beans make you fart.
    How Pynchon knew that "bean-brain" was the Victorian era "brain fart" is all the proof I need that Pynchon is a time traveler and he writes all of his novels in the era where they're set. That's much easier for me to believe than imagining somebody actually does loads of research for their novel.
    No Victorian era lady would ever utter the word "fart." They probably pretended not to even know what a fart was although I bet they just filled the room with flatulence the moment they loosened up the corset. I bet undoing the tie on a corset just unleashed a torrent of loud farts as they were finally able to rush to freedom. Or maybe women simply died whenever they got gas because their stomachs couldn't expand. At least then they didn't have to be embarrassed when their body finally let one loose, I suppose.

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 "And my fair companion here is . . . give me a minute—"

* * * * * * * * * *

Some spirit messenger Blackbird Rideout turns out to be. He can't even remember the name of the naked lady he was photographing. Of course now that I remember she was naked, I completely understand. The subtext of this is probably something like the patriarchy can't even bother to acknowledge the agency of women or realize that they are individuals in their own right.
    Although you'll be more sympathetic to Merle's inability to remember her name once you learn what her wackydoodle name actually is.

"my fair companion"
Get it? It's a play on words! She's nice to look at and also she has accompanied him to the Fair!

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 The sportive lensman introduced himself as Merle Rideout.

* * * * * * * * * *

"sportive"
This description of him was garnered either from the style of dress described in the Chums' first encounter with him or because he must be "playful and lighthearted" to be out in the field photographing a naked woman while surrounded by descending balloons full of children. Either "sportive" or "filthily disgusting."

"lensman"
He's a photographer, Spellcheck. Is it that hard to understand? Spellcheck needs a common sense adapter.

"Merle Rideout"
To "ride out" something is to successfully survive some unstoppable catastrophe. As family names go, you couldn't get a better one that points to some amazing story from your ancestors' past. Although I'm sure the surname is meant to expressly describe something about Merle himself (although this is Pynchon so we might get a full chapter on Rideout's great-great-great-grandparents who endured some kind of invasion by unknown foreigners who cannibalized half of their village while they hid in barrels at the bottom of a well).
    A "merle" is a blackbird. Blackbirds are sometimes thought of as spirit messengers. If the boys of the Inconvenience are angels or ghosts, Merle could be their liaison with the "National Office." Obviously they don't know each other and are just meeting. I mean he could be an unwitting liaison, carrying a message he doesn't know he's to deliver. It's like giving a kid the name of Malachi Constant! He's just going to think it's a name but if he looks into it even a little bit, he might start believing he's some kind of grand messenger of God!
    Merle could also be thought of as a "spirit messenger" in that he's a photographer. He "captures" the spirits of people and the spirit of the times, locked in still images for all eternity. Perhaps his photographs "ride out" the finite moment in which they're created.

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 Strolling among the skyships next morning, beneath a circus sky which was slowly becoming crowded as craft of all sorts made their ascents, renewing acquaintance with many in whose company, for better or worse, they had shared adventures, the Chums were approached by a couple whom they were not slow to recognize as the same photographer and model they had inadvertently bombarded the previous evening.

* * * * * * * * * *

Miles and Lindsay's night at the Fair came to a conclusion between sections which means Pynchon wasn't interested at all in describing the events and exhibitions taking place in The White City at the center of the fairgrounds. The center isn't of concern here. Perhaps I'm getting a little bit closer at understanding the title. Perhaps the day is the center, the status quo, the considered norm. What we see in the day is what the light shines on, and what the light shines on, in a civilization, is curated by desires, beliefs, agendas, motivations, and selfish machinations of the people living in it. But that doesn't mean what happens in the shadows doesn't exist, or isn't important, or isn't equally as valid to those who live outside of that light.

"It's always night, or we wouldn't need light." The quote by Thelonious Monk which opened the novel. "It's always night." An observation by a man who lived in the shadow world, not because he chose to but because society chose it for him. And even when he thrived, they continued to try to stop him from thriving whenever a light was shone on him. His life mirrors every experience Black Americans have tried to explain to white Americans who just simply choose not to believe it. Because living in the daylight is an experience so divorced from those without light that it can hardly be comprehended. And much of the time, white Americans simply choose not to comprehend it when it's plain as day.

I'd be a fool to believe that I understand what this novel is about or where it's headed, thematically, after only reading twenty-five pages of boys' adventure novel. But what's the point of having a brain if you don't use it to think about what you're reading while you're reading it?

"the Chums"
Why "the Chums of Chance"? I haven't asked that question yet, have I? For a group of uniformed boys working by strict rules within a seemingly militaryesque organization, why identify with the word "chance"? Chance could mean "the occurrence and development of events in the absence of any obvious design." What does that say about their view of their 19th century world? We're throwing God right out of the picture with this nickname, are we not? I know they're using it to mean "do something despite its being dangerous or of uncertain outcome." But we have to acknowledge that Pynchon knows the alternate meanings of the word and what they, too, suggest about their name. So if the term chance suggests an "absence of any obvious design" as well as engaging in dangerous activities with uncertain outcomes, it's part of the text and part of the story.
    I think the "obvious" is doing most of the work in this case. God has been the "obvious" designer up until, well, about 1893, if I'm going to go all-in on Pynchon's story and themes. The Chums are living in an era where the "designs" are being discovered little by little and they've been discovered to be obvious in no way at all. That's the thing about science. People who don't really care much about learning and understanding the world around them, so wrapped up in their own gut instincts and personal anecdotes, always seem to think the world can be understood if you just have a modicum of common sense. But common sense implies obviousness; common sense allows for easy understanding of simple things and matters. Science is neither simple nor easily understood. Science often goes against everything our senses say the world should be. In a way, I see the phrase "absence of any obvious design" as a statement that puts God to rest and embraces science.

"approached by a couple"
It's been three sections of mostly the Chums so I'm looking forward to some new characters! Especially the naked lady!

Chapter 1: Section 3: Page 25: Line 87 (372)

 "Out to the Fair, maybe down to the Yards, duck soup."

* * * * * * * * * *

"down to the Yards"
Privett is obviously concerned with what the immigrants and the unionizers down at the Stockyard might be up to. Throwing it out there as an afterthought to flying above the Fair practically stands up and takes an oath on The Bible that the Yard is what he's truly interested in. What could really be happening at the Fair? If there's trouble there, it's not like Privett or his employees will have any role in dealing with it.

"duck soup"
A task that is easily accomplished. Like a midnight run! And both sayings have had movies named after them!
    This is where I would research how the phrase "duck soup" came about but I read one essay about it and I have determined that it is a mystery lost to the ages. There were suggestions about why it might exist as a phrase to mean an easily accomplished task but I don't truck in speculation! At least not other people's speculation, anyway.

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 "Take our man up on a short trip or two's about all it'll amount to," the sleuth-officer now, it seemed, grown a bit shifty.

* * * * * * * * * *

Now it seems he's grown a bit shifty? I was on board with his shiftiness as soon as I realized he was probably a drunkard! I understand that says a lot more about me and how quick I am to judge but I don't care. I'm a full blown supporter of Randolph and his crew, as well as the immigrants and unionizers, and this guy began the entire conversation by showing his contempt for the labor movement. Now here he is playing it cool, like his man won't be getting up to any unethical shenanigans. He's just going to have a quick look-see and report back, easy peasy.

Hey! I just realized another possible suggestion by Nate Privett's name: privations, "a state in which things that are essential for human well-being such as food and warmth are scarce or lacking." That about sums up what I think of his attitude. Either he's lacking that which makes him human, or he's an instigator of privation among the masses. I guess either one presupposes the other!

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 "We have carried up to a dozen well-fed adults with no discernible loss of lift," replied Randolph, his glance not quite able to avoid lingering upon Mr. Privett's embonpoint.

* * * * * * * * * *

"Mr. Privett's embonpoint"
Privett has a few extra pounds is what Pynchon is saying. Probably from all the drinking.

"a dozen well-fed adults"
Hmm. Like the Last Supper, right?! This could suggest more supranatural evidence that the Chums of Chance and their balloon aren't quite what they seem. Maybe not the Second Coming, which a new Last Supper aboard the Inconvenience might suggest (and what would be more inconvenient than the Second Coming?!), but certainly a suggestion of a Godly or religious hand in what the lads are doing.
    Or maybe Randolph just looked at Nate's gut and thought, "Eleven, maybe twelve, adults worth of pudge there?"

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 "Got room on your ship for an extra passenger?"

* * * * * * * * * *

They probably need an extra passenger after dumping all those sandbags on landing earlier.

The extra passenger is going to be an observer. There's probably some "observer effect" subtext here that I'm not smart enough to figure out. The changing nature of our world due to discoveries in physics and technology is a major theme in this book (I think?) so I definitely shouldn't rule out that this passenger, this observer, is going to slightly corrupt the goings on aboard the Inconvenience.

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 "Of what exactly would our services consist?"

* * * * * * * * * *

Randolph already knows that the boys will be used as spies in the air, keeping an eye out for any trouble during the Fair but now he needs specifics to look our for. "Trouble" almost certainly means "union activity." But I'm sure Nate will have a nice euphemism for it, like "anarchism" or "terrorism" or "socialism" or "left-wingism" or "cancel culturism" or "antifa-ism" or "social justicism" or "wokism." You know, anything that capitalists realize they have no real control over so they need to paint it in a negative light for their moronic, sycophantic followers who are so bored with their own lives that they need the dopamine spikes that come with being angry at anybody different than themselves.

I'm sure Slothrop had some Proverb for Paranoids that covered this Fox News shit.

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 Randolph was used to it, but determined to proceed in a professional manner.

* * * * * * * * * *

The composure on this kid. And he is just a kid. I don't know how old, maybe seventeen? Nineteen? Who knows since Pynchon hasn't told us. Imagine being thought of as less than nothing by everybody you interact with when you're on the ground and having the maturity to just let it go so you can get your job done. I've never been able to do it but then I tend to mirror people. So if they're an asshole, they usually leave our encounter thinking, "God. What a fucking asshole that guy was." At least I'm entertained by it!

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 He was peering at Randolph now with that mixture of contempt and pity which the Chums in their contact with the ground population were sooner or later sure to evoke.

* * * * * * * * * *

Judging by this look Randolph expects to evoke from everybody he meets, maybe I'm an aeronaut!

It has been stated already, in various ways, that the boys in the sky, these Chums of Chances, are persons of higher quality than those bound to the earth. Metaphorically, they are above everybody else. They have higher ideals. They see the world more clearly and they know their purpose and their duty. When somebody rolling around in the muck of human passions and desires and, well, life in general, struggling with one existential crisis after another, meets somebody with a greater dignity, or a surer sense of themselves, or a strict code of behavior that they don't take for granted, well . . . that somebody can easily hate that seemingly self-righteous bastard. The contempt comes from knowing they have encountered somebody with actual ideals, somebody maybe willing to die for those ideals, and comparing that with what they know of their own sorely lacking beliefs. They must hate this better man because to admire him is to admit their own faults, their own intellectual laziness, and their careless disregard for their fellow creatures. Following closely on the contempt is the need to pity this creature because they don't know what they are missing. One must believe that choosing to live by any code means choosing to forgo freedom.

The righteous man turns a mirror on the unrighteous man. And where the unrighteous man thinks he feels contempt and pity for the righteous man, he is really being forced to feel those things for himself. But he will not acknowledge it, for self-reflection is a chore for which a free man has no patience.

Or maybe Nate is just such a capitalist hater of anarchists and lover of alcohol and money that he's forced to feel hate and sorrow for a person whose life is not ruled by money. What else even is there?!

Chapter 1: Section 3: Page 25: Line 79-80 (364-365)

 "Sounds crazy. But, we'll have our legal folks draw up some language we can all live with, how's that?"

* * * * * * * * * *

Not making an easy buck when it's being offered sounds crazy to Nate Privett. Can you believe somebody exists who isn't trying to line their own pockets at every opportunity?! In America?! Those who have no system of ethics cannot believe that other people do. Oh, sure, Nate probably espouses certain ideological and moral beliefs. But when it comes right down to it, somebody offers him a free slug of whiskey, he's going to take that free slug and try to turn it into two free slugs, even if he's not supposed to be drinking on the job. Because when it comes right down to it, who's it hurting if you break your own code of ethics?! It's not like you're going to start strangling babies! I mean, you're probably not going to. Everybody has their price, right?! And that price needs to be written up by my lawyer because I'm not going to become no baby murdering patsy just to have you stiff me on it!

Chapter 1: Section 3: Page 25: Line 78 (363)

 "For here at Unit level, our compensation may not exceed legitimate expenses."

* * * * * * * * * *

In other words, the Chums of Chance can't accept tips.

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 "That is between you and our National Office," Randolph supposed.

* * * * * * * * * *

If I'd previously read this book, I could explain what Randolph's National Office was, answering the only real question anybody might have about this line. But that's not the way I do things. I don't watch a movie in preparation of watching a movie, mainly so I can answer my Aunt's stupid questions every thirty seconds. I just consume the media I'm consuming and figure it out as I go, maybe not totally understanding it until I write about it or talk it out with a friend later. Currently, I don't really have anybody who wants to talk with me about Against the Day (certainly not at this excruciating pace). If you've stumbled on this blog to find out an answer to what Randolph's National Office is, you're out of luck here. I'm sure there's an Against the Day wiki somewhere online that can answer all of your questions in the most boring and matter of fact way. Which I've come to learn is the way most Internet denizens like their facts. If they get a whiff of hyperbole or facetiousness or whimsy, they . . . no, you know what? They'd never recognize it in this context. If it isn't a stupid meme that they've seen five hundred times before making fun of something somebody else loves, they simply read whimsy or facetiousness as plain old ignorance and stupidity. They only like finding a joke in a discussion that's supposed to be intelligent and rational so that they can completely miss the humor, take the whimsical statement literally, and tell the person who made the joke exactly how stupid they are.

Why am I even on the Internet? I hate this place so much! That's why I call it "Dad."

"National Office"
I should at least speculate, right?! The National Office is probably an agnostic or atheistic scientific organization making observations of the world so they can sit in a stuffy office and nod knowingly at the predictions they all make based on the data. Then they do nothing to change the world for the better because they're too busy sitting around seeing if their predictions come true so they can pat themselves on the back. Oh! Like this blog! That's what I'm really doing with this blog! Putting in writing how well I understood this book while I was reading it without any outside input about it!
    Oh, I also think the National Office is like the Federation in Star Trek. But instead of going where no man has gone before, they just fly around above where men have gone and keep a spying pervy eye on them.

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 "Since the Haymarket bomb," Nate was explaining, "we've had more work than we can handle, and it's about to get even more hectic, if the Governor decides to pardon that gang of anarchistic murderers. Heaven knows what that's gonna let loose on Chicago, the Fair in particular. Antiterrorist security now more than ever will be of the essence here. And, well, you boys enjoy the one perspective that all us in the 'spotter' community long for—namely, a view from overhead. We can't pay you as well as the Pinkertons might, but maybe we could work out a deferred arrangement, small percent of profits down the line instead of cash right now. Not to mention what tips or other off-the-books revenue might come your way."

* * * * * * * * * *

"the Haymarket bomb"
I know I should have read this book once before doing this blog but that's not the way things happened and we can't change the past so why do we think we can change the future oh no wait let me start over. . . .
    I'm not sure of the overall themes of this book other than "America and the world changed a lot at the end of the 19th century & beginning of the 20th, and 1893 was a particularly interesting place to begin the story of that change." One of the major changes that wasn't based on technology (although was probably a major reaction to, for instance things like the expansion of industrial production via technological innovations? Forgive my ignorance on American Studies because I failed to take the last three credit course that would have allowed me to minor in it) was the fight for workers' rights. The Haymarket bomb is a reference to a riot that ensued during a rally supporting a strike in which workers were asking for eight hour days. Somebody threw some dynamite and seven police officers were killed in the blast and/or ensuing gun fire. Four civilians were killed.
    Obviously this resulted in public outrage against the violence and the police were free to scoop up anybody they thought they could pin the attack on even though the police had, the day previous to the bombing, killed one worker and injured several others. As always, the public seem to be okay with police killing people but not the other way around. I'm not suggesting we should all be cop killers! But we should all, at the very fucking least, hold police accountable for the violence and mayhem they themselves cause, generally in accordance with the will of the rich and powerful.
    This quote from Wikipedia (quoting labor historian William J. Adelman) helps to explain exactly why Pynchon can make a slight reference to the Haymarket bombing and yet have it mean so much to the rest of the text: "No single event has influenced the history of labor in Illinois, the United States, and even the world, more than the Chicago Haymarket Affair. It began with a rally on May 4, 1886, but the consequences are still being felt today. Although the rally is included in American history textbooks, very few present the event accurately or point out its significance."
    I recommend just reading the Wikipedia page on it, just like you should be trained to do whenever Pynchon mentions any moment in history. There's a reason it's in the book!
    The Haymarket in Chicago was located on the corner of Des Plaines Street and Randolph Street. Randolph St. I mean. What?
    One fact (one that those who experience the truth with their eyes and ears and do not experience their "truth" from right-wing media outlets and Twitter liars would readily recognize) was how the rally before the bombing was entirely peaceful, for hours, until the police arrived and began bullying and ordering everybody to disperse. The bomb may have been the first act of violence but the police had already killed striking workers so their presence alone was a show of threat, intimidation, and violence. Also, the rally was expected by some (especially the anarchists who understood how the powers that be would never budge without violence against them in ways that would lead to a loss of profit (the only thing they cared about)) to be a means of revenge against the police for the previous day's killing.

"Nate was explaining"
It's as if we, the readers, got caught up in looking about Nate's office as Randolph made his way in and exchanged greetings with the man he had come to see. After checking out the office, we come back to their conversation already begun so we have "Nate was explaining". It's a slight variant on "in media res." Pynchon is able to leave out the mundane details by simply shuttling us along a slightly off-kilter temporal narration, like how the scene shifts from the receptionist asking about Randolph's parents immediately to Nate's office. It's the best way to narrate a story because you don't have to write all the boring and mundane bits into the text. You should expect the reader to fill in all of those gaps while you, the author, are able to stick to the stuff in which you can jam all the best subtext into. Like describing Nate's office in a manner that says, "Nate drinks a lot!"

"if the Governor decides to pardon that gang of anarchistic murderers"
The Governor was John Peter Altgeld and he eventually, later in 1893, pardoned four of the twelve people convicted for the bombings, citing "hysteria, packed juries, and a biased judge." Nate sees more trouble and violence on the way by people who believe everybody convicted must be "anarchistic murderers" angered by the pardons. The parallels with the way people are manipulated into anger and propaganda today are simply striking. Against the Day was published in 2006 so Pynchon is most definitely referencing America's reaction to the 9/11 attack as well.

"Antiterrorist security now more than ever will be of the essence here"
See? Definitely writing about America's response to 9/11, especially the "see something, say something" propaganda campaign asking the public to become private profilers constantly suspicious of anybody who might look different from them. In the early 2000s, that meant profiling anybody who might look of Middle Eastern decent, making life hell for every brown skinned American. Back in 1893 Chicago, that probably meant harassing and hassling anybody who might look or sound a little too German or Irish or Eastern European.
    "Antiterrorism security" is never actually about stopping violence. Hell, policing isn't about stopping violence either. Because unless you've got psychics lying in a pool stopping thought crimes, you just can't be on hand to stop violence. But if you establish "antiterrorism security," you allow yourself the right to "stop crime" by hassling and arresting anybody you think might fit the profile of somebody who could be a terrorist. It's not about stopping violence; it's about power and control and making the status quo (generally white Americans of middle class) feel safe.
    So the "See something, say something!" campaign gets started right here in 1893 as Nate asks the boys to keep an eye out for terrorism from the sky! And since they're basically unquestioning patriots (Randolph and Lindsay, mostly. Probably Miles. Currently Darby but the more he hangs out with Chick, the less he'll be so), they'll not think twice about being pawns against possible anarchy, or as it's also known, the labor movement.

"We can't pay you as well as the Pinkertons . . ."
Ugh. Just associating himself as a peer of the Pinkertons makes me like Nate less than I did after learning he was a drunken lout who knew Doc Holliday. The Pinkertons would pay more because they're paid by the corporate powers to bust heads and keep the workers down. I don't know how Nate makes his money. He's offering the Chums of Chance a percent of the profits but what profits could he possibly be speaking of?! How does one make money on spying on unions and striking workers from the air? I suppose the factories and corporations probably pay bounties on braining and bludgeoning the leaders and most charismatic figures of the movement?