Chapter 1: Section 7: Page 64: Line 182 (1164)

 "Just like what's in your pocket."

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Is this Roswell expressing hope that Merle will be able to pay him for his tutelage? Not outright asking, of course, since Merle helped him escape the asylum and he kind of owes Merle. Or is this just more preparation for some silver themes upcoming? "Hey, reader! Did you know coins were made of silver? Do you know what coins are? You do know money has existed as an actual object for millennia, right? It's not just numbers in a computer!"

Maybe this is a reference to The Hobbit?

In reality, I should discuss this line and the two that follow it together. But I made the rules earlier and I'm sticking by them! Until I don't!

Chapter 1: Section 5: Page 43: Line 190 (772)

 He poured syrup on a towering stack of pancakes out of which butter melted and ran.

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Leisurely and luxuriously, Nate Privett is about to tell Lew Basnight all bout the evils of unions and immigrant labor. Is what I suspect! He seemed like a dick when Randolph met with him and he seems like a dick now.

Remember Nate's first description in this chapter: "A plump and dapper individual . . . buying domestic cheroots." Cheroots are cheap cigars, cheaper even, I presume, if they're made domestically. So he looks nice, he's well fed, and he buys cheap cigars. When he eats, it's a towering stack of pancakes full of butter and syrup. I'm getting a really unflattering image of a low-to-middle income believer in capitalism, earning his money while walking on the heads of those worse off than him, like Legolas fighting orcs while standing on the heads of dwarves in barrels.

I just re-watched (and read!) The Hobbit so I'll probably be using a lot of Hobbit metaphors and analogies during the next few weeks.

The bottom line is that Nate seems like a grotesque and gluttonous human being with shitty priorities. Maybe all of that evidence isn't completely, um, evident but I think I know a shit human being when I see one. Also remember he sent Lew aboard the Inconvenience to spy on "anarchists" which is definitely the detective agency codeword for "unionists." He may as well be a Pinkerton.

Chapter 1: Section 5: Page 42: Lines 167-168 (749-750)

 He understood that things were exactly what they were. It seemed more than he could bear.

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Occasionally I'll break my "One Line at a Time" rule because the lines need to remain together. A semicolon would have been nice here, Pynchon! Maybe think of bloggers who will eventually get sued into taking down their blog because it's reprinting your whole book one line at a time when you write your next novel, okay?!

Lew's moment of clarity, written simply, and heartbreakingly familiar.

There's a feeling I've been having lately, at 49, that I truly never expected to feel: humans live too long. My entire life was always plagued by the idea that our lifespans are so short. And yet, lately, it seems like all the color has worn off my surroundings. It's like being in a library where every book has been read. And it's realizing that a large percentage of the other humans on this planet are selfish, violent bullies stripped of empathy and compassion.

I re-watched The Hobbit: Battle of the Five Armies last night and was gutted by the elves going to war. Before one of them even died, I was heartbroken by the fact one of them might. How does one justify the sacrifice of immortality for a brief and bloody conflict? I absolutely didn't judge Thranduil when he was ready to walk away from the war. A man is sacrificing maybe twenty or thirty years; an elf is gambling eternity. Sure, a life is a life. But Thranduil is fucking right when he asks what the difference is if a dwarf dies today or in ten years or in a hundred. I was on his side so hard even though he was meant to be seen as a selfish isolationist not willing to do what was needed to save the world.

I had a dream once where an old woman was asking me about my cat, Judas. Eventually she asked if I'd kill my pet to save the world. And I easily and quickly answered, "No." I told that dream to my cousin and, years later, she asked me if I remembered that dream I had. And I said, "Yes, of course." She said, "You were right." She hadn't thought so at the time. But she eventually came to realize the truth of it. There is only so much we can give for this world; some times we are asked too much. Not only would I not have killed Judas to save the world; I would have given my life to save my best friend.

I miss him so Goddamned much.

Maybe it's not that we live too long. Maybe 49 isn't the problem. Maybe it's that my grief over a damn cat simply overwhelmed me and stole the colors from my world. Maybe Tauriel's grief of Kili, and the loss of love, and the need to have love taken from her, affected me more than I want to admit. Maybe immortality is too much to bear when heartbreak and loss exist. Of course, that's part of the reason Thranduil decides to abandon the battle. He's not an unfeeling king. Tauriel has lost one dwarf she recently fell in love with and it's too much to bear; how much then is Thranduil suffering upon looking at his friends lying mutilated all across the battlefield?

Heartbreak is too much to bear and yet, at the same time, it's entirely worth it. Because it's inevitable when one allows themselves to love so much.

"It seemed more than he could bear." Such a simple sentence full of power. What a great description of life and everything in it.

Sorry for rambling.

Lew, having his moment of clarity, seeming almost like a mystical revelation, actually winds up doing the opposite: he sees through the veil of hope and magic and possibility to stare the mundane world directly in the face. This is it, Lew. This is life. Troth is gone. Live with it. And he thinks, "I don't know if I can."

Chapter 1: Section 1: Page 4: Line 17

With the deftness of long habit, he flipped Darby upside down, and held the flyweight lad dangling by the ankles out into empty space—"terra firma" by now being easily half a mile below—proceeding to lecture him on the many evils of looseness in one's expression, not least among them being the ease with which it may lead to profanity, and worse.

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Where to start?! I wouldn't want to be some boring normie and start at the beginning. I'd rather be like a great Greek poet and start in the middle! The middle, in this sentence, is "terra firma" which is actually actually the middle, considering the Chums of Chance are in the sky and I'm sure some adventure of theirs will have taken place (or will take place (or will have Took-en place (I just re-read The Hobbit so that one was for me. You can ignore it))) underground.

Now that I began briefly in the middle, I'll go back to the beginning and just take the sentence apart in a linear fashion. That's because I've read too many comic books in my time and that's their standard modus operandi. First page is a big splashy battle to attract the kid flipping through the unpurchased book and then the second page ditches that excitement for the boring beginning of the story. Most comic books don't realize that they don't have to present their story in this manner. It's so boring!

With "[w]ith the deftness of long habit," we see that Lindsay Noseworth is a huge bully who not only hands out demerits but threatens the safety of every person on board the Inconvenience. What good are demerits if threats of physical violence are parceled out as well?!

This entire scene reeks of the conservative's civility argument. "Please speak and act the way we think you should speak and act or else we will punch you in the nose or shoot you with our guns. Be civil, for God's sake!" If informality of speech might lead to cussing, what leads to bullying young people into obeying arbitrary rules that have nothing to do with morality or ethics?! Oh! Oh! I know the answer to this one! A low self-esteem or some innate fear which leads to a fervent need to control and dominate every situation! It's the rallying cry of the authoritarian! I bet Lindsay considers himself to be a whatever a Libertarian was in 1893. No wait! That would probably be an Anarchist! Lindsay's definitely not that!

Here's the difference between an Anarchist and a Libertarian: a Libertarian is an Anarchist when it comes to their own life but when somebody encroaches on their own individual liberty (not the liberty of the individual but their own personal liberty!), they expect there to be a law or government to stop that from happening. An Anarchist understands that true personal freedom means everybody is doing their own thing and can live with the, possibly, resulting chaos. A Libertarian believes in personal freedom for everybody as long as that personal freedom parallels their beliefs. A Libertarian ultimately needs some kind of bodyguard; an Anarchist defends themselves! That's why Libertarians usually turn out to be Authoritarians in disguise.

I know Anarchy is going to be a constant theme in this book! Even if that anarchy is really just activists organizing for social and economic justice and being labeled as anarchists by people who profit from the current status quo.

You might have noticed that I've refrained from swearing so far on this blog but not for any reasons regarding looseness in one's expression! I'm just trying to stay more in character! Grunion Guy...I mean, Anonymous Blog Writer doesn't swear as much as that other guy, the one that professes to be Grunion Guy but is really mostly just himself, Anonymous Blog Writer. Wait. What? Hmm, maybe if I confuse myself enough, I'll allow myself to start swearing again!