Exley, futility, Gravity's Rainbow, etc.

[Richard Moorman]

At 07:19 PM 6/2/97 -0500, you wrote:
>I also read in Publisher's Weekly that there is a bio
>coming out on Fred Exley by Jonathan Yardley. Anyone
>else like Exley? I had to read Fan's Notes for a class
>several years ago and most of the class agreed that
>it was the most depressing thing they have ever read.

Gads, yes!  Between "A Fan's Notes" and "Infinite Jest", I'd have to say
that "A Fan's Notes" was more depressing.  I've never encountered such a
well-expressed sense of utter futility in a novel.  I'm amazed by Exley's
writing talent and hope like hell he eventually found a really, really,
really good detox center.  

Actually, the ending of GR also has, for me, a similar feeling of ludicrous
futility to it.  I now realize that over the past three readings of GR
(each about five years apart) I've never made it through to the end.  When
I start the book, I love it.  The language, the concepts, the characters,
all those silly songs, close harmony, magic realism, love and death just
make me want to jump up and yell for joy.  I am absolutely astounded by the
brilliance.  

But by page 600 or so, I have to grit my teeth to keep reading.  I think I
stopped somewhere after Frau Gnahb's escapades.  After awhile I simply DO
NOT CARE A FUCKING BIT whether Slothrop disappears entirely, whether
Tchitcherine catches up with Enzian, etc, etc, etc.  One more scene in
which the fetishistic allure of stockings and garters and rockets and whips
and all that is rationalized in compulsively geeky engineering terms and I
just want to...to...put the book down and go out for a nice walk.  I simply
cannot care anymore.  

Anyone else have this reaction?  Is this what TRP is shooting for?  Or are
we supposed to be overwhelmed by the incredibleness of it all?  

I actually like the ending.  The rocket lands in America, eternally,
always, forever.  We've pretty much absorbed the lessons of the Rocket
here, we always knew them, we've taken all the next steps They wanted us to...

Yesterday I was at the Lowry Air Force Base in the Air and Space Museum
(here in Denver, Colorado) and happened to notice some nifty little
eight-foot-long stainless-steel cylinders lying next to one of the jet
bombers on display.  Just a couple of little practice bombs, two dummy
one-megaton thermonuclear weapons.  Two of which would fit on my couch, or
in the back of my station wagon...we could stack 'em in the front hall,
they'd fit in the closet a-and no one'd notice...