Kip Manley's Blog, page 23

No. 40: dirty white noise (Act III)

Rubber strikes Glass – Spit & Image – potted Cliffs – transactional Analysis

No. 40: dirty white noise (Act II)

first, a Box – what They got wrong – the Stoney strand, the Salty sea – what’s Known, what’s Not

No. 40: dirty white noise (Act I)

a Hightop, Fire-engine Red – how to Help – deal Sealed – nor Yet the Butcher’s son – what he Might do

No. 40: dirty white noise (Opening)

the Officer in black – toward Clarity

Things to keep in mind (The secret of allegory)

But some people will say that all this may be very fine, but that they cannot understand it on account of the allegory. They are afraid of the allegory, as if they thought it would bite them: they look at it as a child looks at a painted dragon, and think it will strangle them in its shining folds. This is very idle. If they do not meddle with the allegory, the allegory will not meddle with them. Without minding it at all, the whole is as plain as a pikestaff.

—William Hazlitt

Pentawhist

There was a bit of a break, wasn’t there. Let’s call it the mid-season hiatus, that excess of late-model broadcast television that led to such grotesque neologisms as the “mid-season finale,” I mean, really. While the story wasn’t progressing, we were finding a new house, and moving into it, and I was preparing for my first federal criminal trial which got postponed at the last minute (COVID) (not mine), and so have had to prepare for it all over again. We’ve already done the cover reveal and talked about the re-runs; here, have a gander at the new study, where the magic will be happening from now on.

The first draft for no. 40 came in at 21,219 words that were trimmed to a fighting count of 15,175, which might help to explain why it took so long. (Might not, granted.) And I’m in the very odd and highly magical space, here as we approach the end of the current volume, where I need a solution to a story problem and cast about only to find the perfect answer assembling itself from bits and pieces I’d stuck in earlier, on this whim or that, not at all knowing what I might need them for, or why, and on the one hand it is shivery spooky, this sensation, but any gift cuts both ways: shouldn’t I have meant to have planned it this way all along, if I had been paying attention? Genius is not luck, after all.

But nonetheless: I’ll take the luck. —No. 40, available now on paper; appearing here for free at the very end of this month.

No. 40: “ – dirty white noise – ”

Running on Las Vegas time. Chilli’s done what he’s only beginning to grasp, while Jo isn’t sure what must be done next.

the Officer in black – toward Clarity – a Hightop, Fire-engine Red – how to Help – deal Sealed – nor Yet the Butcher’s son – what he Might do – first, a Box – what They got wrong – the Stoney strand, the Salty sea – what’s Known, what’s Not – Rubber strikes Glass – Spit & Image – potted Cliffs – transactional Analysis – a Half-dozen Dream-catchers – how He’ll do It – the Only Mortal here – already Unlocked – a Disagreement – the Last chord

Things to keep in mind (The secret of ghosts)

The different truths are all true in our eyes, but we do not think about them with the same part of our head. In a passage in Das Heilige, Rudolf Otto analyzes the fear of ghosts. To be exact, if we thought about ghosts with the same mind that makes us think about physical facts, we would not be afraid of them, or at least not in the same way. We would be afraid as we would be of a revolver or of a vicious dog, while the fear of ghosts is the fear of the intrusion of a different world. For my part, I hold ghosts to be simple fictions but perceive their truth nonetheless. I am almost neurotically afraid of them, and the months I spent sorting through the papers of a dead friend were an extended nightmare. At the very moment I type these pages I feel the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. Nothing would reassure me more than to learn that ghosts “really” exist. Then they would be a phenomenon like any other, which could be studied with the right instruments, a camera or a Geiger counter. This is why science fiction, far from frightening me, delightfully reassures me.

—Paul Veyne

Things to keep in mind (The secret of longing)

Foley was no innocent. He’d been down to Cooper Square and the Tenderloin, passed an evening, maybe two, in the resorts where men danced with each other or dolled up like Nellie Noonan or Anna Held and sang for the crowds of “f—ries” as they called themselves, and it would have figured only as one more item of city depravity, except for the longing. Which wasn’t just real, it was too real to ignore. Foley had at least got that far, learned not to disrespect another man’s longing.

—Thomas Pynchon

Things to keep in mind (The secret of the shelf)

This poet contains great beauties, a sweet and harmonious versification, easy elocution, a fine imagination: yet does the perusal of his work become so tedious, that one never finishes it from the mere pleasure which it affords: It soon becomes a kind of task reading; and it requires some effort and resolution to carry us to the end of his long performance. This effect, of which every one is conscious, is usually ascribed to the change of manners. But manners have more changed since Homer's age, and yet that poet remains still the favourite of every reader of taste and judgment. Homer copied true natural manners, which, however rough or uncultivated, will always form an agreeable and interesting picture. But the pencil of the English poet was employed in drawing the affectations and conceits and fopperies of chivalry, which appear ridiculous as soon as they lose the recommendation of the mode. The tediousness of continued allegory, and that too seldom striking and ingenuous, has also contributed to render the F--ry Queen peculiarly tiresome; not to mention the too great frequency of its descriptions, and the langour of its stanza. Upon the whole, Spenser maintains his place upon the shelves among our English classics: but he is seldom seen on the table; and there is scarcely any one, if he dares to be ingenuous, but will confess that, notwithstanding all the merit of the poet, he affords an entertainment with which the palate is soon satiated.

—David Hume