Storytelling and the Futility of Facts

Sure, it's well-written and insightful and all that, but does anything ever really happen in Sherman Alexie's collection of short stories? It's quite feasible that the answer is no, but why shouldn't it be? Does the author have any responsibility to provide us with true actions of consequence or could it instead be an experience of consequence?

Magical Realism. A literary term, but more often a term of dismissal as something not “real”. I've heard it used everywhere from a means to slight a major author to a condemnation of my own work. But, why do we have this desire for “real”? If reality is what we crave so badly, why read fiction to begin with? To prevent this from turning into a rant, let's turn to LR and Tonto for guidance.

Obviously, we could say that the entirety of the crazy stories never take place at all. That he's just inventing silliness and exaggerations. This doesn't harbor much in the way of analysis. Let's look a little closer.

In the trial of Thomas Builds-the-Fire we see a man who has brought to court on charges in the vicinity of nothing-at-all. As Builds-the-Fire tells stories to explain his innocence, he mentions being a horse slaughtered by Colonel Wright and that he still carries “his letter of that day which justified the coming slaughter”.

There's a lot to unravel there. First and foremost, Thomas was a horse, eh? On top of that, he was a horse that lived over 100 years before his trial is taking place. Pretty far out. Must be that dastardly magical realism. What might not be noticed if not looking too closely is that, though Thomas begins to read the letter after saying he has carried it with him all these years, he never pulls the thing out. He says he has it, then starts talking.

So much of the action of LR takes place this way, without ever explicitly saying that anything happens. Items appear, people go places without the reader ever being told that they traveled. While in many cases this could simply be the author speeding up the plot and avoiding getting bogged down in remedial action, it happens far too often in LR to be coincidental. On top of that, Alexie is an incredibly purposeful writer so it's hard to imagine something like this would be lost on him.

But really, what this all comes down to is that the stories are more powerful than fact. They mean more. They exist as action in a way that actual action never could. So why does nothing happen? Because “real” occurrences are overrated.

Despair and Humor: Why One Needs the Other in a World of White Noise

Delillo appears throughout White Noise to very much delight in forcing his reader to attempt to pull together the pieces of the world he has created. This, he accomplishes in a way that starkly contrasts with the attempts of “” in The Crying of Lot 49. Where “” used subtle connections between things and the very relatable Oedipa as a confused protagonist, Delillo instead opts to offer up possibilities through the (perhaps questionably) brilliant minds of the narrator's professor friends before quickly dismissing them as fodder for more cosmic humor. There are countless examples of this throughout the book.

A Few Quick Examples:

"I understand the music, I understand the movies, I even see how comic books can tell us things. But there are full professors in this place who read nothing but cereal boxes."

"It's the only avant-garde we've got."

"In a rooming house. I'm totally captivated and intrigued. It's a gorgeous old crumbling house near the insane asylum. Seven or eight boarders, more or less permanent except form. A woman who harbors a terrible secret. A man with a haunted look. A man who never comes out of his room. A woman who stands by the letter box for hours, waiting for something that never seems to arrive. A man with no past. A woman with a past. There is a smell about the place of unhappy lives in the movies that I really respond to.""Which one are you?" I said."I'm the Jew. What else would I be?”

And it is just these sentiments which, in some ways, hold White Noise together. Despite what may happen or may have a chance of happening, the world finds a way to insert some humor to lighten the blow, even if the characters are unaware of it. This does not in any way detract from the book as a Postmodern work but it certainly allows for more Modernist elements as it creates the feeling of some sort of underlying meaning, even if that meaning must certainly end in death.

Is Eve's Place Really Hell?

–You can just go to hell, Jesse mumbled through the sweet relief of it all.

–I think you've forgotten that's where we are.

Needles. Just endless piles and piles of needles and the promise of all the heroin you could ever ask for. A junkie's dream. A winter wonderland with a different powder of choice. And yet, Jesse Bell is not a simple junkie. She seems to have a genuine desire to quit, though not at the outset of her use. What was once an escape for her has become an engorged tumor of a thing by the time she arrives at Eve's. And Eve, an interesting creature who claims to want to rehab Jesse, is instead providing her with product and more and more luxurious means with which to shoot it.

And what does Eve hope to gain, for herself or for Jesse?

Is it, as we discussed in class, that she simply wants to expose her to the source of her problems again and again in the hopes that this will in some way cause her to grow and overcome it? Yes. Is it that she simply wants to torture Jesse in some way for what she has become because of the drug? Yes. Is Eve just sadistic? Quite possibly, but we never know for sure.

But it's also true that if Jesse wasn't shooting up inside Eve's she'd simply be doing it on the street. Beyond that, Eve is providing her with the best possible product and needles available. She is showing Jesse that this is as far as heroin can take you and your life still amounts to shit with it. No matter how far this thing can take you, it won't be further than this. And that, as a realization of the world she must inhabit, must be enough for Jesse.

As for Eve's place. Sure, it's hell. But it's just one of many.

Postmodern Novel, Postmodern Diner

In Bailey's Cafe, the characters are fragments of people. Each is only able to present one side of them that, as “Bailey” tells us from the start, is not all there is to them. However, their traumatic pasts have led them to conceal pieces of themselves and present others, and not necessarily the best of themselves. The narrative is similarly fragmented. There are no quotation marks for speech, no clear separation of time and space, and the narrative voice tends to change without warning.

This structure is vaguely reminiscent of Joyce's Ulysses. It similarly fails to differentiate voices and defies structure which leads to an ample amount of intended ambiguity. This, as we have discussed in class, asks a lot of the reader and also forces them to latch onto what little they know about the characters from isolated incidents and traumatic moments.

The structure of Bailey's Cafe the novel is very much representative of Bailey's Cafe the place. The novel exists as a sort of hub of voices often competing to tell their stories but never really able to tell the full story. This is exactly how Bailey experiences the stories of each of the people that enter his diner. With the structure of the novel and the structure of the diner working in favor of one another, the reader almost feels as if they become Bailey and must watch these poor women and men slump through their diner seeking..... seeking what?

Comfort, solace, warmth, pain, sex, ice, wine, hash, or any number of things. And we feel their pain. But, perhaps we as readers feel it a little more fully than Bailey as he seems to have disassociated from it. He understands from years of toil how the diner works while we have only just strolled inside. This makes the damage of the real world that much more dangerous to us and creates an almost unbearable closeness in the scenes we must witness the characters endure.

Tigers, Tigers Everywhere and Not A Bite to- Ooo, a rabbit!

“It turned its face once toward me, then jumped into the fire.”

And so the cute little rabbit sacrifices itself to quell Fa Mu Lan's hunger. 

 

Hunger

1. a compelling need or desire for food.

2. the painful sensation or state of weakness caused by the need of food: to collapse from hunger.

3. a shortage of food; famine.

4. a strong or compelling desire or craving: hunger for power.

5. to feel hunger; be hungry.

6. to have a strong desire.

Thanks to Merriam-Webster for a quick list of reasons why “hunger” is a term that can be explored with a lot of depth.

Hunger is absolutely integral to the shared experience of humanity. It is a feeling that all people can understand and are drawn together by much in the same way that all humans are united by the certainty of death.

So what exactly is Fa Mu Lan's hunger? And what is the narrator's hunger? Are the two related in any real way?

The first hunger is the most basic and primal as it is simply our first definition of “a need for food” covers it pretty well. However, this is a hunger that has been brought on intentionally by the people training Fa Mu Lan and Fa Mu Lan herself. To impose this on oneself, there must be a certain goal. In this case, Fa Mu Lan's physical hunger(definition 1) seems to bring about a mental hunger(definition 4) which is shared by the narrator living in the present.

This is the unity of the human spirit. We feel shared emotions and shared ties with others because we are capable of feeling many of the same things. In the case of the narrator and Fa Mu Lan, they are both battling against their culture's perception of them as both chinese people and as women. This, coupled with their hunger for more than what they were given, drives them forward while pulling them closer together.

The Great Big Book of Bokononian Postmodernity

Book of Bokonon, Verse 1: All of the true things that I am about to tell you are shameless lies.

One would think that the first lines of the Book of Bokonon would be plenty to turn people far away from the proposed religion. However, this(coupled with the banning of Bokononism by their dictator) lead the people of San Lorenzo to universally accept the religion as something integral to their lives.

However, what if we accept that the world itself is nonsensical going into our reading of the Book of Bokonon? If we approach Verse 1 in this way, we see that Bokonon may very well mean “there is no truth, so why not find it here?” or, alternatively, “there is no truth and I(Bokonon) understand this and can help you deal with it.” The very premise of Bokononism appears to embrace wholeheartedly a postmodern worldview that delights in and latches onto the very fragmented world in which those who practice it live. For this reason, it seems that a religion designed to not make sense fits perfectly in a world which tends to make so little sense.

The little lies and big lies of Bokonon give a sense of meaning and purpose to the people of San Lorenzo, even if they know the entirety of their religion to be a farce. This can be as much the case now as it is in Vonnegut's world in Cat's Cradle. This is not to discount religions, but instead to bolster them as hope-bringers, whether this hope is warranted or not. If religion brings a better life to the people practicing it, be it “true” or not, is it not still a positive thing in a world with so few positive things?

The Spinning Wheel of Death: Chance and Power in the Hunger Games

You know it.

All sleek and vibrant. It should be such a happy symbol. A little pinwheel of energy that should bring a smile to your face even if you spilled your coffee in your lap and forgot to turn off the stove the night before, setting off the fire alarm at 4 AM and rousing the entire apartment complex to come remind you that your fire alarm is screaming. (Hmm, maybe I'm drawing a bit too much from personal experience.) Either way, the spinning wheel should be a happy thing.

But it's not. The promise of more loading has never once put a smile on a person's face. It's the promise that things are in a state of flux. That they are not where they will be on the glorious day when the wheel finally tires of spinning and wanders back off to whatever folder happens to hold it.

That's the Hunger Games. The world in a state of flux and no one ever seems quite sure of the power they hold or the role that is layed out for them. Obviously, there is the power of the lottery balls and the sway they hold on the young population of the different Districts. But these only serve as a tangible expression of the actual problem faced by the population of Panem.

No one person in the Hunger Games holds any sort of position of permanence. Their control over a situation seems wholly based on someone else's control and someone else's will until it reaches high enough that the control lies with the will of a nation which is even scarier as the will of a nation is an incredibly fickle thing.

Obviously, the people of the Capitol appear to be in the most comfortable position of anyone in the Hunger Games. They hold most of the citizens under the thumb and are able to use the police force to bend most of the nation to their will. This too, manifests itself physically in the Hunger Games via the lottery system and the Capitol's control of the maze on which the games are played. However, Katniss still manages to survive that power and even works out a way to completely turn it in her favor via her relationship with Peeta and subsequent faux-suicide attempt.

The fact that Katniss was able to garner any sort of control at all in the position that she was in represents the major state of flux in Panem and shows us that, despite the best efforts of the powers that be, as the 74^th annual Hunger Games come to a close, that damn rainbow wheel is still spinning.

The Ballad of Sir Hercules: An Expansion of a Digression

So, this is something I mentioned briefly in class on the day we discussed Cat's Cradle, but something that I think is worth visiting in greater detail.

The story of why I read Crome Yellow(Aldous Huxley's first novel) is a long and boring one, filled with many tears and looks of woe. Suffice it to say, it was Huxley's first novel, I thought I was writing my first novel, and I wanted to judge myself against someone whose work I liked when he was at the same stage of his career as I was in mine. 

In Crome Yellow, Sir Hercules is presented as a long-deceased family member of Henry Wimbush about whom he has written a long and tiresome biography called “History of Crome” which he uses to stupefy his guests at a dinner party. Many don't make it through the tale, though perhaps they should have. As Hercules' story is a bit dark, I'll do my best to supplement it with equally dark photos throughout.(maybe they all won't be so dark after all)

Hercules was born to a noble English family. He grew up a magnificent scholar, being well-versed in both Latin and Greek by age 12. He became a poet around that time, but still failed to impress his parents due to his limited stature as he stood a meager three-and-a-half feet tall when he had finished growing. Without even the chance to win his parents over, Hercules was forced to watch each die from unexpected causes during his youth. This left him with a massive estate and a chance to rearrange the entirety of his world.

Hercules set about to fashioning his future. He hired dwarf servants, traded the horses for sturdy shetland ponies, replaced the hunting hounds with wily pugs and set the house up to accommodate his diminutive stature. By the time he married his 3-foot tall wife(who he rescued from the circus) Hercules had insulated himself within a home and support system that was entirely dwarfish. This leads him to develop the idea that not only do the people of his house not need big people, but big people are not necessary at all. He states numerous times that “his people” will one day multiply and show their superiority to the world as a whole. 

Now, obviously, thoughts like these have some glaring flaws and also tend to point toward some delusion within Hercules. It's hard to blame his being bitter, but he does tend to take a fairly drastic, hostile approach toward big people. However, in taking this approach, Hercules attempts to take the meta-narrative that would drive the lives of most dwarves and turn it completely around. This works for him to a certain degree and leads to quite a number of happy and productive years for Hercules and his wife.

But, as with all things, the postmodern world will simply not let them be, showing its delicious passion for ruin. The birth of Hercules' son Ferdinando, a very happy and proud moment for him and for any parent, turns sour quickly as the years go by. The boy simply will not stop growing. Larger and larger until he stands around six feet tall, almost twice the height of Hercules who, despite his best efforts, begins to resent the boy for being big in the same way that his own parents had resented him for being small. This leads to several altercations and culminates with Ferdinando inviting several of his friends over for dinner at their estate where they begin roundly criticizing Hercules' odd existence at Crome.

While a few petty insults should not be enough to truly harm Hercules after a life spent dealing with people who treated him much the same, the fact that they come from his son and friends brings to Hercules a much sharper reality: while his son exists, his world cannot exist as he has made it. This essentially pulverizes the foundations of Hercules' existence and leaves him with very grim options for the future. The outside world, in this case, has crushed Hercules' invented meta-narrative and reinstalled its own. “People are this. You are not this. You are less than a person.” Hercules sees little hope left for the life he has made and opts to kill himself and his wife that night.

And with Hercules' and his wife's death, Wimbush concludes the story. Just like that. No moral. No nothing. Just a sad story about a sad man leading to a quiet homicide and suicide that no one even remembers except his distant relative Wimbush.

But maybe it's not just that. Hercules tried to create his own meta-narrative and live within it, avoiding the rest of the world entirely and scorning them when possible. His life was lived as if he had submerged himself, his estate, and all those inside it within a bubble deep down in the ocean. The problem is that his oxygen was bound to run out at some point. 

 

And so it does run out, leaving him as quickly as the idea to craft his own world had come. With this in mind, it seems only fitting that such a seemingly trivial encounter drives Hercules to suicide. The whole affair becomes the simple act of the world flexing its bulging muscles to batter the meek and sickly individual.

I may have bumbled pretty far by 250 words. Whoops. Well, at least it wasn't a horribly depressing story.

Self-Awareness Limited

What struck me the most from the weird world of Sunset Limited is that no character seems capable of self-examination. Both characters are very adept at examining one another, even beginning to predict what the other's reaction will be to each of their propositions by the end of the piece. Yet for all their insight into the modus operandi and inner-machinations of the other man, each struggles to step outside of themselves and gain a complete view of what they actually are.

White is only able to examine himself as a function of the world around him. While this is a worthwhile effort to some extent, it sets White too far apart from the world outside and sets up a glass wall between White and the huddled masses who he watches from the air-conditioned room of his own feelings of superiority. This superiority extends even to White's feelings of suffering as he feels he is more justified in his desire for suicide than others who have taken the same route. .

Black, alternatively, only seems capable of seeing himself as a function of God or religion. While he is more capable of self-examination, he is more capable of being shaken out of what he sees himself to be. The identity that he clings to is not necessarily his own and is instead some form of “Reformed Black” that he disassociates from his criminal past. Even when Black tells the story of maiming the man in prison, he appears to take on an entirely different personality before coming back out of it afterward.

As an example of their lack of self-awareness, neither Black nor White even seem to know enough about themselves to know what they would do in any given hypothetical situation. Black knows only what God would want him to do and White knows only what he would be capable of doing and can name all of the decisions that he “might” make, but never states the one that he would choose to make.

White is tortured by the fact that he must go on living. Because of this, he surrounds himself with scholars and college students – those still not disillusioned with life – who make him more miserable about his own life.

Black chooses his own personal hell by living among others who refuse to actually live rather than squandering their lives. Because of this, he buries himself firmly in squalor and decay within his dying apartment complex filled with junkies and low-lives who he is determined to help in some way.

This doesn't make either man less of a person or less in any way than the other man. It just makes them both men, incapable of breaking the illusion by looking in the 9x magnification mirror that seems to be filled with unsightly blemishes.