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 His mouth began to open slowly as the Austrian prince continued—

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As Huckleberry Finn once said, "As long as I was in, and in for good, I might as well go the whole hog." Which maybe isn't an apt quote to use on a man who is going whole hog in being racist where as Huck Finn was kind of doing the opposite. He was going against what he had been told was right (being a racist prick), presuming he'll go to Hell for his actions, to do a thing that was actually just. But see, the point is that he did the right thing not because he thought it was the right thing but that he did the right thing thinking that doing that thing would condemn him to Hell. See how that's more important? A whole lot of people who claim they're patriots should maybe take a long weekend to read Twain's book. Although they'll probably just take the opportunity to read it out loud so they can justify saying that one word. You know the word. You're thinking it right now, you monster.

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 The insultee, a large and dangerous-looking individual, could not believe he was hearing this.

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Even living in a country full of racist pricks, it's probably still surprising to hear somebody actually give voice to a stupid stereotype. Also, can I point out, Pynchon, that one of the systemic problems we have in this country is cultivating this idea that large black men are "dangerous-looking." I don't want to suggest that you're part of the problem, Mr. Pynchon, so I'll assume the man being insulted is wearing a huge chain around his arm with a large hook dangling from the end and one knee pad shaped like a skull and huge biker boots and long hair and face make-up like a clown. And for some reason, he's surrounded by penguins and telling somebody about his pet space dolphin.

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 "Ooooo," went several folks in earshot.

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Pretty standard reaction to a 7th grade level insult. If the Archduke wasn't being cut some slack because he's so obviously a foreigner, he probably would have gotten his face punched. Maybe he'll still get his face punched. Lew's got to be in this scene to drag him out of a scrape, after all.

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 "What here are you looking at, you wish to steal eine . . . Wassermelone, perhaps?"

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Oh shit. Where did my opinions about soda go?! I wasn't expecting the Archduke, no matter how racist and sociopathic he's been described up until this point, to go so hard so fast! I mean, technically, it's not the worst thing he could have said. It's a pretty immature stereotype. It's also kind of dumb because doesn't everybody love watermelon? I suppose like the story I once heard about a mother who refused to buy their child a rainbow sticker because rainbows mean gay, there must be racist assholes out there who refuse to eat a delicious watermelon because of this dumb stereotype. I can't imagine how hard it must be for a Black American to simply enjoy some watermelon in public without a bunch of stupid assholes making some kind of racist joke about it. I'm white and I bet even if I were eating some watermelon in public, some stupid asshole would make a racist joke about it. And that stupid asshole might be my father! And probably just two minutes after going on some rant about not being able to make jokes anymore!
    Anyway, the point is that Archduke Ferdinand is a racist asshole looking for trouble. You might have learned that earlier if you'd been paying attention to how he wanted to hunt Hungarian immigrants for sport.

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 Something about the neighborhood drew him, maybe the food—surely the only place in Chicago a man could find a decent orange phosphate—although right at the moment you could not call the atmosphere welcoming.

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Is saying the Black neighborhood has the only decent orange phosphate racist? Or, being that Pynchon has written it, so obviously true that I can't believe I hadn't realized it before. My belief that Pynchon time travels to write his novels makes me believe that Pynchon experienced the orange phosphates from the south side of Chicago in 1893. I can practically taste it myself right now even though I don't exactly understand what a phosphate is. I think it just means carbonated beverage. So he's basically talking about Orange Crush. That was always my uncle's favorite soda to get at McDonald's and I used to think, "Gross! That's like the worst choice!" But I've come to decide it's actually a really good choice. Not at McDonald's, mind you! The only real choice there is the Coke because McDonald's Coke is better than all the other Cokes somehow. But if you're at a truck stop or something, Orange Crush is a great choice.

See how good I am at ignoring racial tension in the text? All I have to do is discuss soda instead! I bet I'd make a good Republican!

Ouch. Why'd I have to insult myself like that?

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 Lew kind of enjoyed it himself in this part of town, unlike some of the ops at White City, who seemed skittish around Negroes, who'd been arriving lately in ever-increasing numbers from down South.

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Uh oh. This is getting into discussions of race relations in America! Being a dumb white guy living in Portland, Oregon, I don't have the sensitivity, historical understanding, cultural awareness, or—let's face it—intellect to discuss this stuff. But I do know that cops are worse than I am at this kind of thing and Pynchon sort of points out one of the problems with why cops are so terrible at it (other than the outright racism). I mean, "seemed skittish" really is about the kindest euphemism you can use for a person not comfortable with leaving the bubble of their world in an effort to understand some of their fellow American citizens who maybe haven't lived the same American experience that you've lived for, being blunt, some seriously fucked up systemic reasons. Not that I'm suggesting their American experience is negative simply because it began as completely racist! Black Americans created their own culture outside white American culture because they absolutely had to; what else were they going to do? Whites wouldn't let them experience "American culture." So if somebody feels "skittish" around Black culture, the cure for that skittishness isn't by avoiding it; it's by immersing yourself in it and learning about it. The cure is leaving your bubble rather than suggesting everybody who has left your bubble to actually live in a multicultural America is living in a bubble.
    Dammit! I already admitted I don't have the elegance to discuss race in America! But being a white guy in Portland, I just can't help myself! I have mediocre opinions that I have to share!

"some of the ops at White City, who seemed skittish around Negroes"
Look at how perfect that statement is. Pynchon's pretty good at this writing thing.
    Imagine being one of my professors in college having to read this kind of explication from me. They loved scribbling all over my essays: "How so? Expound on your thoughts?" And I'd just read those notes and think, "How?! It's all right there in the text! Does 'expound your thoughts' simply mean 'rewrite in your own words what Pynchon just said so eloquently'?!"

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 "Squalid!" screamed the Archduke. "I love it!"

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Apparently Archduke Ferdinand was a hipster. This is the kind of Pynchonian historical fiction revelation which I instantly incorporate into actual history. From this day forward, whenever I see a picture of Archduke Ferdinand with that huge hipster mustache, I'll think about what a scenester he was based on actual historical evidence. You can try to tap me on the shoulder and clear your throat and say, "You do remember Pynchon writes fiction, don't you?" But I'll only slap your hand away and scream, "I live in my own reality just as we all do but the only difference is that I embrace it, you fool of a Took!"

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 Barrelhouse piano, green beer, a couple of pool tables, girls in rooms upstairs, smoke from two-for-a-penny cigars.

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For a modern audience reading this and thinking, "What a terrific bar in Portland, Oregon! I can't wait to see all of my other fellow citizens dying to be seen in a bar like this!", you should try to remember that this story takes place in 1893. This is scandalous! A piano?! Playing live music composed by Black Americans?! Pool tables?! With a capital P! Prostitutes! Cheap cigars! Beer that's green on a day that's not the one that racistly celebrates Irish history by everybody getting completely shitfaced! In 2021, this sounds like a great time! But in 1893 . . . well, it still sounds like a great time! Plus it's way more authentic in 1893 Chicago. If this bar were in 2021 Portland, it would be appropriative and gentrifying and full of truly terrible people.

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 After a lengthy search including obvious favorites like the Silver Dollar and Everleigh House, Lew found the Archduke at last in the Boll Weevil Lounge, a Negro bar down on South State in the Thirties, the heart of the vaudeville and black entertainment district in those days, hollering his way into an evening which promised at least a troublesome moment or two.

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Being that this is a Pynchon novel and I'm extremely lazy, I'm not going to research 1893 establishments only to discover that the Silver Dollar and Everleigh House were a famous saloon and a famous brothel, both frequented by Mark Twain and Anna Elizabeth Dickinson. I'm especially not going to try to research the Boll Weevil Lounge only to have to scroll through dozens of Internet search results that simply refer back to Against the Day. One thing I've learned after 49 years of existing is that existing itself is hard enough. Why bother making it harder?

We've already learned the Archduke is a racist sociopath. And now he's ditched his bodyguards and wound up in a Black bar on the south side of Chicago? That's trouble brewing!

This is the kind of astute explication of literature that I learned to do in college. And you can bet this was A+ material being that half of the other students were dumber than me. That's not called being smart. It's called being average! And I fucking excelled at it!