February 25, 2008 § Leave a comment
Finished last Saturday: Bear v. Shark.
A couple of tidbits from this and then I’m putting it to bed. Really a fun read, even if I do think it’s no great shakes as literature goes. Hey, I can pretty much guarantee that I’ll enjoy, at least at some level, any book that includes a functioning index that is also a parody of an index, and appears not at the end, but as a chapter of the book itself. I’m a sucker for index humor after taking a class on “Indexing and Abstracting” in library school.
Tidbit #1: Chapter 58, “Textual Evidence,” is a radio interview with a poor doctoral candidate trying to build a career on the hypothesis “that Shakespeare had bear sympathies” based on the relative number of appearances of the words “bear” and “shark” in his works. There are some truly hilarious lines in here. E.g.: responding to the charge that most of the “bear”s in Shakespeare are verbs, not nouns: “You know sometimes it’s like Freud never happened.” And there’s the host’s rejoinder of the “negative evidence hypothesis”: the theory that Shakespeare didn’t use the word “shark” because he was so respectful and terrified of them.
This would be silly if people weren’t constantly trying to do this kind of thing with Shakespeare (and a few others), and for similarly ludicrous reasons.
Tidbit #2: Chapter 68, “In Superhero-Type Fashion,” juxtaposes “Long Story Short ed.” recaps of Orson Welles’ War of the Worlds radio broadcast and the death of pro wrestler Owen Hart to point out the strange ways in which fiction—artifice, illusion, spectacle—now seems more real, normal, and expected than “real life.” This is really quite brilliant, I thought.
It’s the most explicit statement of a theme that runs throughout: entertainment, pounding hype, repetition, and contrived narrative as a kind of soup we now live in, all around us, absorbing practically everything in sight. (This appears elsewhere in detached snippets of televised/radio broadcast dialogue, commercials, sports talk, etc., and in the whole chapters that detach from the novel’s own narrative arc (such as it is) to describe one program or another.) We expect story and packaged narrative: it’s the moments of unexpected things actually happening that are hardest for us to understand, now. We spend a really inordinate amount of time parsing the details of, and coming to grips with, these “real” occurrences, intrusions of action (alternative narratives, or alternate realities, if you will) into the narratives that have been built around us. (See the chapter “Non Sequitur,” here. See 9/11, and the almost instantaneous growth of a subculture believing it was heavily stage-managed or at least planned to appear on TV. Better yet, read “The View from Mrs. Thompson’s,” DFW’s 9/11 piece. Now I promise to leave the shrine of DFW alone for at least a month.)
No great insight here, right? This is practically the ur-narrative of this whole school of writing (which is really a lot harder to define than it seems: call it postmodernism and you’re lumping in a bunch of writers to whom it doesn’t so much apply. Maybe we should just call it the Barth/Pynchon school and leave it at that). In other chapters Bachelder, writing (I speculate, based on pub date of 2001) in 1999-2000, throws the Internet into the mix. His particular hobby-horses are the easily detachable, easily misunderstood, easily convoluted bits of info and trivia available there. It’s a little early. He’s still dealing with small-fry conspiracy theorists and poor spellers. Just wait for the well-meaning, ill-informed listserv poster, wikifier, or blogger, my friend! Then you’ll have some serious clusterfucks of rumor, hysteria, outdated information and skewed statistics!