Spooner article

[Cleve Barrit]

 Found: an article that some of readers might find interesting--
Written by Frank Spooner who also takes photos for the agency Gamma 213 the
article was published in the January 95 edition of the British academia
journal--"Survey":

        "In the early seventies, a time in America when the talk of the
town were such notables as the Jackson Five, Bruce Lee and of course Butch
Cassidy and the Sundance Kid a remarkable new form of fiction was being
disseminated. We're talking of course about the monolithic "Gravity's
Rainbow" by Thomas Pynchon. Critics of the time were confused, elated and
curious as to the machinations of Pynchon's mind. Where did he come from?
Why did he refuse to publicize his novels? Of course those who actually
read the book knew that to ask these questions and expect an answer was
useless.
        Any reader in the 60's worth their weight in salt would have been
aware of Pynchon's earlier works; "V" and "The Crying of Lot 49". For
Americans the times in which "Gravity's Rainbow" was published were dark
ones indeed. The media trials of Richard Nixon were a sign that the country
was suffering from a deep and painful wound. The war in Vietnam was
dragging itself on even as public outcry against the government had all but
disappeared from the public discourse.
        For many of the country's intelligentsia the arrival of such a
monumental work was a sign that times were changing, indeed the
hermetically sealed quality of the novel was a testament to the paranoid
tenor of the era and struck a nerve among those people who seemingly had no
energy left to fight. How could one fight in the prescence of "They". Them,
the faceless ones who controlled the destiny of the world were (and were
not) the subject of the novel. A popular quotation of the time was the
following by the character Pointsman; " . . .that if there is a life force
operating in Nature, still there is nothing so analogous in a bureaucracy.
Nothing so mystical.It all comes down, as it must, to the desires of
individual men." There it stands, nowadays in the political climate of
America one feels the quotation would be subject to mass criticism by those
who feel that "individual men" should be changed to "individual people". Or
would it? A keen follower of national events in the first half of the
1970's would notice that it was only men whose names permeated the national
consciousness,in fact you wouldn't even have to use first names; Nixon,
Agnew, Woodward and Bernstein and . . .Pynchon would do.
        Let us press the fast forward button as it were and speed through
the years up to the 20th anniversary of the publication of "Gravity's
Rainbow". I was sitting at home one gloomy Sunday in the summer of '93 when
I recieved a phone call from a friend of mine. "We're having a Pynchon
Party" he said, "come along and bring your favorite mask!" I flipped
through my meager selection of characters and decided on a cat mask I had
picked up in New Orleans a dozen or so years ago. When I arrived the bash
was in full swing. Set in the back courtyard of my friend's home was a
festivity the likes of which I had never seen before and will likely never
see again. His courtyard, normally a quite sedate setting, was festooned
with colourfully bright ribbons and surgical tape. Hanging from thin wires
above the heads of of the partygoers were small models of the balloons so
familiar to the skies of WWII. A giant blob was sitting in the corner
pulsating in a fascinating way, the giant adenoid I presumed.
        "Come, come, have a drink and some snacks." this said by a odd
looking fellow with the visage of the comic superhero Plastic Man. I roamed
around the yard for a bit admiring the time and care which must have gone
into the party. A fellow dressed in cream colored trousers and a crisp
white shirt came up to me carrying a brown paper box. "Good evening, Ronald
Cherrycoke is the name you haven't seen her have you?"
        "Her?" I responded a bit tentatively.
        "Yes the woman. . .the woman of the supple hides."
        "I'm afraid not."
        "Well, no bother" he said as he drifted away.
        It was then that I realized that many of the people at the party
must be  under the strong influence of psychoactive drugs. Indeed if I
stopped and looked carefully at some of the goings on I could spy certain
strange acts which only accompany those in a mind altered state. For
instance in the Northern quarter of the yard was a fellow dressed as an
American cowboy painting a particularly vibrant rendition of a sunset. The
discrepancy lied in the fact that his "model" was of course not a sunset
but a rather fetching young woman dressed in a boa with a large rubber
octopus draped round her neck.
        Banana milkshakes were being passed around, surely the source of
all this edgy frivolity, I thought. I myself passed on the refreshments
seeing as how I had a photo shoot later that evening. Perhaps once long ago
I might have partook of the mindframe as it were but nowadays  . . . seems
as if I have grown old and conservative doesn't it.
        In any case I was having a fine time in spite of the lack of neural
receptor alterers when another gentleman approached me, this one wearing a
South American style mask. (Which I later learned was a Mayan replica)
        "How do you do" said the fellow with a decidedly Yank accent,
"Thomas Pynchon"
        "Ha Ha", I chuckled "Quite!"
        "What think you of the party?" he said.
        "Very nice, quite enjoyable"
        "Yes" he spoke "I must say I've never seen anything quite like it"
        We both stopped to watch a small performance beside us, a woman
wearing a pineapple bosom was being attacked by two eager beavers with
metal straws. They were intent on sucking out the juice from her pulpy
faux-breasts.
        "Very primal" I finally said.
        "Hmmmmm", the fellow nodded. He paused then looked at me. "I'd like
to show you something"
        I followed him over to a relatively empty corner of the yard to a
small statue of a bird in motion, carved out of ice.
        "Are you familiar at all with the work of Etienne-Jules Marey by
any chance?"
        The reader will have to take my word for it that I was extremely
shocked, a photographer by profession I have done much research on the
French physiologist who unbeknownst to many people invented the technique
called chronophotography. The technique involved (and still involves) the
use of a camera to record the movements of humans, horses and of course
birds. By inventing a system of rotating shutters Marey laid the groundwork
for the motion picture and unlike the more famous Muybridge was
scientifically rigorous in his methods.
        "As a matter of fact I am." I smoothly replied.
        "Excellent!" he cried. He reached into his pocket and took out a
small leather notebook and a (rather nice Montblanc) pen. He scribbled
something down, handed me the paper and walked away.
        I looked down at the paper-- "The sun, not very high yet, will
catch a bird by the ends of his wings, turning the feathers brightly there
to curls of shaved ice." It was signed Thomas Pynchon. I took a few breaths
and looked around me, the chap of course was gone and the party was raging
merrily on it's way. I stood there for a few moments longer looking at the
bird, looking at the paper. I then took out my Contax T-2 pocket camera
which I carry with me at all times, snapped a single photo of the melting
bird and then went home. I have the photo blown up now on my mantelpiece
with the framed quotation aside it. Almost every day I stop and look at the
pair of objects and think of Thomas Pynchon."


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