[lbo-talk] Charles Bowden

[Carrol Cox]

I think perhaps Eric chose the wrong word but is on to something. Most
writers most of the time give the reader passages that allow him/her (the
reader) to agree (or to feel agreement) with the author; in the case of
works grounded in ironworks grounded in iron we say of such sentences that
"the mask drops," as when in A Modest Proposal the Progjector remarks that
the meat will be especially appropriate for landlords, who as they have
eaten up  half the population .... (rough paraphrase from memory). The
reader can triumphantly agree with ths. Swift doesn't offer such occasions
in A Tale of a Tub, nor does Milton in Paradise Regained (sic: regainend,
not lost) -- both of which are simply as well written as it is possible for
English to be, and both of which have 'turned off' many readers. Austen's
Mansfield Park similarly offers the reader no place to comfortably agree
with the narrator, and it is Austen's best book. Readers are comfortable
with Austen's Emma because the misinterpret it,  thinking both they and
Austen are "looking down" on Emma's mistakes. Austen isn't: what Austen sees
is a powerful intellect, trapped in a fog of stupidity, and thrashing around
trying to find a use for her intellect. I think all these writers are "cold"
in Joanna's sense of the word, but I'm as bothered by her word choice as I
am by Eric's.

Carrol

  
-----Original Message-----
From: lbo-talk-bounces at lbo-talk.org [mailto:lbo-talk-bounces at lbo-talk.org]
On Behalf Of Eric Beck
Sent: Wednesday, January 19, 2011 6:42 AM
To: lbo-talk at lbo-talk.org
Subject: Re: [lbo-talk] Charles Bowden

On Tue, Jan 18, 2011 at 11:33 AM, Angelus Novus
<fuerdenkommunismus at yahoo.com> wrote:
>
> Joanna wrote:
>
>> I thought Gravity's Rainbow was brilliant, but I never especially
>> liked his writing. I found it very cold.
>
> Wow, I'm not sure what "cold" is supposed to mean here.

I agree with all of what you say here, but I think I know what
Joanna's getting at. Pynchon is completely unsentimental and doesn't
give the reader a lot to hold on to or a temporary refuge to hide in.
He's not Dickens. Or even Faulkner.

But as you say, he creates incredible worlds. And he's written some of
the finest sentences in English.

Okay, maybe there are occasional refuges:

"And past the exhaustion with it there is also this. If they have not
quite seceded from war's state, at least they've found the beginnings
of gentle withdrawal . . . there's never been the space or time to
talk about it, and perhaps the need - but both know, clearly, it's
better together, snuggled in, than back out in the paper, fires,
khaki, steel of the Home Front. That, indeed, the Home Front is
something of a fiction and lie, designed, not too subtly, to draw them
apart, to subvert love in favor of work, abstraction, required pain,
bitter death.

They have found a house in the stay-away zone, under the barrage
balloons south of London. The town, evacuated in '40, is still
"regulated" - still on the Ministry's list. Roger and Jessica occupy
the place illegally, in a defiance they can never measure unless
they're caught. Jessica has brought an old doll, seashells, her aunt's
grip filled with lace knickers and silk stockings. Roger's managed to
scare up a few chickens to nest in the empty garage. Whenever they
meet here, one always remembers to bring a fresh flower or two. The
nights are filled with explosion and motor transport, and wind that
brings them up over the downs a last smack of the sea. Day begins with
a hot cup and a cigarette over a little table with a weak leg that
Roger has repaired, provisionally, with brown tine. There's never much
talk but touches and looks, smiles together, curses for parting. It is
marginal, hungry, chilly - most times they're too paranoid to risk a
fire - but it's something they want to keep, so much that to keep it,
they will take on more than propaganda has ever asked them for. They
are in love. Fuck the war."

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