The small-talk had turned to surplus wealth.
* * * * * * * * * *
Imagine being able to modify the word "wealth" with the word "surplus." Just imagine it! And for that to be small-talk and not a profound and life-changing discussion!
Thursday, March 11, 2021
Chapter 1: Section 4: Page 32: Line 122 (494)
They were gathered at a marble table in a sort of parlor, over cigars and whiskey.
* * * * * * * * * *
Once again, we see Pynchon, in the early parts of this book, resorting to easily digested tropes and stereotypical clichés. I'm sure it wasn't just me who instantly pictured on my mind easel a bunch of fat cats (actual cats) dressed in elegant suits with fob chains hanging out of their breast pockets, wearing monocles and dangling a cigar out of one corner of their mouth, a small tumbler of whiskey in one hand and sitting around a long table in a room decked out in grandfather clocks and taxidermied animals, maybe with an ornate globe off to one side (which probably opens to conceal more alcohol).
Pynchon is really playing up one-dimensional caricatures for his boys' adventure novel sections. He's practically doubling down on the cartoonish villain of Scarsdale Vibe facing off against the genius but naïve about the real world scientist and his gaggle of heroic adventuring lads.
Chapter 1: Section 4: Page 32: Line 121 (493)
"Same kind of activities as well," muttered Ray Ipsow.
* * * * * * * * * *
Now I know this is some kind of insult because Ray Ipsow can't stand these capitalist jerks but I'm not sure exactly what the insult is. Is he implying prostitution? Grift? Theft? I suppose a little bit of all of those. He's comparing the small time crimes and petty thefts happening at the Fair to the supposed legal business transactions done by moguls like Scarsdale Vibe.
"Ray Ipsow"
Oh! Another thought on Ray's name: it sounds like "Reap what you sow." Maybe he's a man of keen vengeance against people of capitalist authority!
Chapter 1: Section 4: Page 31-32: Line 118-120 (490-492)
"Bet you there's even guests known to catch insomnia from it, eh? but there's equally as many find it strangely soothing. No different here at the Palmer House, if you think about it. Racket level runs about the same."
* * * * * * * * * *
"guests known to catch insomnia from it"
I wouldn't define "some asshole playing guitar until 3 AM kept me up all night" as insomnia. I'd classify that as somebody needing an immediate ass kicking. I suppose the "inability to sleep" part of the definition doesn't really qualify the reasons for that inability. So I should probably give this one to Foley even though I don't want to. I remember as a fifteen year old boy (the worst kind of creature, really), I would die on every single hill. Now I can't even be bothered to climb a hill to join the fight. My only debate tactic left in the arsenal is an apathetic shrug.
"there's equally as many find it strangely soothing"
I want to argue against this but remember my single debate tactic left at my disposal that I mentioned in the previous sentence? I suppose one guy playing acoustic guitar one floor below you is an aggravating and terrible sound that I can't imagine even the worst extrovert appreciating while a combined noise of a large crowd singing and hollering and dancing and fingerbanging simply becomes white noise, like the waves of the ocean in a beachside resort, or the hum of an electric fan. So I guess I agree? *apathetic shrug*
"Racket level runs about the same."
The Palmer House is on State, Wabash, and Monroe. I've looked at enough maps of the location of the Chicago World's Fair to know that I never remember anything from having looked at them. I could look at one again to see exactly where the Palmer House was located (is located! It's still there but it's now a Hilton Hotel) but should I? Of course not! Foley just told me all I need to know! He can hear the Fair about the same as a person staying at a shitty hotel like Packer's Inn (which must be in the meatpacking district, right?!).
Chapter 1: Section 4: Page 31: Line 117 (489)
"Guess you can hear that whole hootenanny from where you are," Foley went on.
* * * * * * * * * *
"hootenanny"
An informal social gathering usually including folk singing and dancing. In other words, the Chicago World's Fair Columbian Exposition. Maybe not exactly the definition of a hootenanny but it's what Foley is referring to.
"from where you are"
Down on 47th at the Packer's Inn. Forty-seventh street is about twelve blocks north of the upper boundary of the World's Fair, so probably close enough to hear the massive crowds hooting and hollering over all the exotic dancers and topless "natives." I'm sure the people looking at the more scientific exhibits were more restrained in their awe. Maybe a few audible gasps and mumbled "Mercy be!"s.
"Foley went on"
He continued to speak. He didn't actually leave the room or anything.
Chapter 1: Section 4: Page 31: Line 116 (488)
"This is Foley Walker," said Scarsdale Vibe, "in whom his mother claims to find virtues not immediately apparent to others."
* * * * * * * * * *
In other words, a face only a mother could love. But in this case, the "face" is his entire attitude. But then we all know the type. A stand up polite young man with good grades and a great car with a respectable job who your mother remarks every time she sees him, "Why can't you and your friend be more like him?" And then he later gets arrested for constantly coming in his shorts whenever he wrestled with the young boys he taught soccer. And now you're wondering what the hell your mom wants you to do with the rest of your life if that's her role model for you!
No wait. Maybe it's different than that because this is Foley's own mother singing his praises. But that's just what mother's do, right? Which is the entire point Scarsdale is trying to get across. Foley is an awful person and the only one fooled is his mother because mothers are full of unconditional love for their progeny.
Chapter 1: Section 4: Page 31: Line 115 (487)
"Say," it occurred to a large and criminal-looking individual who had been whittling an image of a locomotive from a piece of firewood with one of those knives known throughout prisons of our land as an Arkansas toothpick, "you're not of the vegetarian persuasion, I hope."
* * * * * * * * * *
"whittling an image of a locomotive from a piece of firewood"
Now we know this criminal-looking individual is skilled with a knife. And artistic. Two great qualities that go great together if you're a psychopathic torturer. Not that I think this guy is that! My mother always said, "You can't judge a book by its cover unless the cover is of a Middle Eastern person and then maybe you can judge it a bit." My mother isn't perfect.
Here's a quick look at some of my mother's thought processes. Every Middle Eastern person she's ever known personally, she absolutely adores. And yet she still admits to being prejudiced against Middle Eastern people. She's so close to understanding systemic and cultural bias propagated by the media and societal stereotypes! If only she had the self-esteem to trust her own personal experiences over propaganda and gossip!
"Arkansas toothpick"
I almost didn't research this term because I figured, "If it's known in prisons, it must be a shiv of some sort!" But then I looked it up and was surprised to find it's the term for a pretty hefty dagger, coined because people were known to pick their teeth with blades. Because when you've got some small bit of whatnot between two of your teeth, what better way to remove it than by shoving a long sharp blade inside of your face?
Imagine how many teeth were picked clean by this! And how many tongues lacerated!
"you're not of the vegetarian persuasion, I hope"
What an odd thing for a criminal-looking individual to say. My first thought is that he plans on feeding parts of Heino Vanderjuice to himself. And he wouldn't want to betray the man's ethics by doing so. My second thought is that he's probably the chef and he's prepared a nice roast for the meeting. My third thought is that he probably fucked the roast before preparing it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)