languages

[Andrew Dinn]

Paul Delany writes:

>   This relates to the general question of Pynchon's "secondariness" -
> it's very difficult to tell if TP knows the "real" London that's
> evoked in GR, and his German and Germany seems equally a "construct"
> from U.S. representations of them in TV and movies. How much does
> this matter, anyway?

First off, some credentials (for what they are worth). I was brought
up (for the most part) in England in the 1960s and 1970s (if anything
my few years abroad gave me a better perspective on English habits)
and I know London well from the 1980s. I don't know the London of the
40s except from TV, movies and what few relics remain from that era in
the city itself and in museums.

Pynchon's London seemed remarkably familiar, particularly the Chelsea
flat (which sounds like it was probably south of the river in
Battersea, or `Lower Chelsea' as many residents would prefer to call
it - most of London is becoming an adjunct to either Hampstead in the
north or Chelsea in the south). It is just sleazy enough to
counterbalance its respectable architectural pedigree, with its view
of `the' power station, meaning Battersea. Although of course from
that vantage at that time one would also be in sight of the Fulham
station an equally awe-inspiring cathedral to the God of Power. And
I don't remember any mention of the warehouses just along the water.

The English characters are, like everyone else, recklessly chasing
thrills in flight from their fear. But they do this with a
particularly restrained (or constrained, perhaps) English
recklessness: small scale infidelities which are for them serious
adventures, self-deprecatingly pretending that the adventure is no big
deal; looking over their shoulder for fear of being thought
unrespectable; actually feeling unrespectable and uncomfortable in
their liasons as much as their betrayals; most of all not
acknowledging their fear `pour encourager les autres' and also because
they believe that if everyone did so it would be the end of
civilization as they knew it (as if that was not exactly what was
happening to them!).

Their hypocrisy lies not in any falseness of self-representation, in
any blatancy, merely in the deceit itself. For they are too `decent'
to bluff others (let alone themselves) that what they are doing is
right. Deep down they overemphasise their sidesteps from convention
believing (perhaps with some justice?) that this is the root of
barbarism much more so than shooting or gassing people (witness the
brigadier compared with Weissman - a dribbling child vs a master
pervert - who is weaker, more pathetic?)  Of course it is the men who
bear the bulk of this guilt. The women are much better at dismissing
their behaviour because they are saddled with a greater sense of
proportion - saddled because what comes with it is a complacency which,
e.g. in the case of Jessica who *will* leave Roger for her Jeremy, is
both unimaginative and cruel.

I don't believe this picture is true of most English people of the 80s
and 90s but I think there are still many middle-aged and older English
people who are like this. It certainly rings true with my memories
from the 70s and earlier and it also fits my conversations with older
people who lived through the war time. Again, I was struck by an
incredibly familiarity as I encountered these characters.

Of course there is one scene which is so English, or rather American
meets Englishness head on, that I cannot believe it came out of any
guidebook or crib - the boiled sweet litany, of course. Slothrop, poor
sap, armed only with a Slippery Elm lozenge, is vanquished by the
combined might of British confectionery. I cannot help roaring with
laughter every time I read this section. Any Americans out there
reading this don't forget to buy a quarter of Winter Mixture should
you ever visit England. The very essence of England boiled and
condensed into a tiny, brittle drop of horror.

So the question was `how much does this matter' whether Pynchon is
describing the real London or a reconstruction. Of course, the whole
issue of history (and all the rest of our reality) as (re)construction
is an important theme in Pynchon's work. But in this case, for me, the
question becomes academic. Whether it's true to life or not it is so
true to my perception that I can't help believing it. What greater
credit can one give than that?


Andrew Dinn
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there is no map / and a compass / wouldn't help at all