Help me, Will

[Dkipen at aol.com]

Dear friends,

In a message dated 97-04-01 07:33:52 EST, andrew at cee.hw.ac.uk writes:

"<< Dkipen at aol.com writes:
 > One correlation between Infinite Jest and Pale Fire comes to mind: Their
 > titles are both quotations from the same play.
 
 Err, . . . not quite. Pale Fire comes from Timon of Athens, Infinite
 Jest from Hamlet.  However, the original poster would have done better
 to look to the source in Timon of Athens for the relation of Shade to
 Kinbote. From memory (no not the Zemblan translation but the original)
 `The moon's a thief for her pale fire she steals from the sun . . . '
 The contrast is between the direct light of the sun and the pale fire
 of of the moon's stolen, reflected light."

Ouch. In yo' face, says Andrew, snuffing me in front of everybody on this
literary playground of ours. Or does he? From "Hamlet," Act I, Scene v: "The
glowworm shows the matin to be near,/And 'gins to pale his uneffectual fire."
That's where I always thought the title came from, and it seems to work
pretty well with Mr. Dinn's admirably lucid solar exegesis. Serves me right
for using Bartlett's instead of a Wagstaff concordance, I guess. Split the
difference, Andrew? Or do you have confirmation from base on the Timon quote?

Oh and by the way, forgive me for intruding on a lot of really fascinating
internecine warfare here, some of it even-Pynchon-related, but would anybody
care to read the first sentence of a little tossoff from Henry Holt called
"Mason & Dixon"? Here goes:

"Snow-Balls have flown their Arcs, starr'd the Sides of Outbuildings, carried
Hats away into the brisk Wind off Delaware,-- the Sleds are brought in and
their Runners carefully dried and greased, Shoes deposited in the back Hall,
a stocking'd-foot Descent made upon the great Kitchen, in a purposeful Dither
since Morning, punctuated by the ringing Lids of Boilers and Stewing-Pots,
fragrant with Pie-Spices, peel'd Fruits, Suet, heated Sugar,-- the Children,
having all upon the Fly, among rhythmic slaps of Batter and Spoon, coax'd and
stolen what they might, proceed, as upon each afternoon all this snowy
Winter, to a comfortable room at the rear of the House, years since given
over to their carefree Assaults."

It came yesterday morning. Go to town. Beware, though. In hopes of adding a
little I.A. Richards/Gene Rayburn piquancy to the whole affair, I've taken
the liberty of replacing one of the words with a near-synonym. Any guesses,
Pynchomanes?

Like stout Cortez,
David