Science Matters
Early morning metaphysics, Bell still drunk, dreamy and dim. If two atoms, once separated, ever recombine again, falling back to their prior status of miniature chemical bliss, you could say that time itself reverses in that system; time itself being nothing but a very sure bet that things disintegrate and do not reconstitute of their own inconstant volitions; a Paula minus a Henry was a Paula that belonged to a different reality.
It’s only fitting that a story so indebted to the work of Thomas Kuhn tip its hat to the broader field of science, and this one does so, whenever it can -- up to and including the laws of thermodynamics.
In fact, SPLIT THIRTY embraces the physical world. Bell pounds Manhattan’s sidewalks, for miles at a time, and his memories are informed by physical details (both for good-- “Paula’s happy iris, darting from place to place,” and her hair “smelling like chemicals from her salon” -- and for ill -- “Marble cleaves when cut. It does not pill.”). For his part, Pooch seems positively drawn to the earth (“I finally passed out, right in the middle of Central Park. I think I was on a tennis court, because I kept getting my feet caught in these horrible big nets.”); and Tasha is nothing if not physically real (in spite of her constant changes). Only Walton dislikes this aspect of existence, finding it inimical to his needs. When he hits the limits of his work with Bell, the act of learning them “hardens his heart.” (“Like dust in a sunbeam, once noticed, never gone.”)
It is Kahn’s peculiar genius to find no contradiction between his science and his faith, allowing each to give shape and meaning to the other; and it is Bell’s great strength, to find no excuse for inaction, while also accepting this world’s ambiguous construction.
To the contrary. Bell expresses himself in action; his is the poetry of motion. And it is only incidental that his tools are hard cash and the occasional tossed rock.
It’s only fitting that a story so indebted to the work of Thomas Kuhn tip its hat to the broader field of science, and this one does so, whenever it can -- up to and including the laws of thermodynamics.
In fact, SPLIT THIRTY embraces the physical world. Bell pounds Manhattan’s sidewalks, for miles at a time, and his memories are informed by physical details (both for good-- “Paula’s happy iris, darting from place to place,” and her hair “smelling like chemicals from her salon” -- and for ill -- “Marble cleaves when cut. It does not pill.”). For his part, Pooch seems positively drawn to the earth (“I finally passed out, right in the middle of Central Park. I think I was on a tennis court, because I kept getting my feet caught in these horrible big nets.”); and Tasha is nothing if not physically real (in spite of her constant changes). Only Walton dislikes this aspect of existence, finding it inimical to his needs. When he hits the limits of his work with Bell, the act of learning them “hardens his heart.” (“Like dust in a sunbeam, once noticed, never gone.”)
It is Kahn’s peculiar genius to find no contradiction between his science and his faith, allowing each to give shape and meaning to the other; and it is Bell’s great strength, to find no excuse for inaction, while also accepting this world’s ambiguous construction.
To the contrary. Bell expresses himself in action; his is the poetry of motion. And it is only incidental that his tools are hard cash and the occasional tossed rock.
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