Silver and Light
August 4, 2008 § Leave a comment
Now reading: Vineland.
A couple more things about Pynchon’s other world and I’ll move on.
There are two incredible extended metaphors within six pages of each other that identify the essence of that other world (which I posited as being the filmed world): it is its timelessness, or at least the illusion of same. Here’s Frenesi, suffering from post-partum depression and from memories of her fascist lover Brock:
Taken down, she understood, from all the silver and light she’d known and been, brought back to the world like silver recalled grain by grain from the Invisible to form images of what then went on to grow old, go away, get broken and contaminated. She had been privileged to live outside of Time, to enter and leave at will, looting and manipulating, weightless, invisible. Now Time had claimed her again, put her under house arrest, taken her passport away….
Frenesi as film, and although I don’t really understand the process of developing film very well, I think what’s intended here is the idea of silver grains recalled from development to the real world, and by extension the idea of Frenesi terrified that she’s given birth to something existing in an unbounded set, something that can “grow old, go away…”
Then there’s a metaphor that manages to be both gonzo and haunting: Brock Vond’s “erect penis” as a “joystick” with which Frenesi steers through her obstacle-filled world, presented as a “forbidden arcade… closing time never announced… no longer the time the world observed but game time, underground time, time that could take her nowhere outside its own tight and falsely deathless perimeter.”
Also important is an earlier passage, from the beginning of the previous chapter (p. 218), which I somehow forgot to mention before. Discussing the Thanatoids, it reads:
We are assured by the Bardo Thodol, or Tibetan Book of the Dead, that the soul newly in transition often doesn’t like to admit — indeed will deny quite vehemently — that it’s really dead, having slipped so effortlessly into the new dispensation that it finds no difference between the weirdness of life and the weirdness of death, an enhancing factor in Takeshi’s opinion being television, which with its history of picking away at the topic with doctor shows, war shows, cop shows, murder shows, had trivialized the Big D itself. If mediated lives, why not mediated deaths?
Now, there does seem to be a clear difference between Pynchon’s treatment of TV and his treatment of video games and film. I’m probably simplifying by lumping them all together into Pynchon’s other, timeless world, a kind of fool’s paradise. I suppose, however, that I should leave the last, blunt word to Sledge Poteet, cutting through layers of b.s.:
“You don’t die for no motherfuckin’ shadows.”