the tarot's fool in american literature/: pynchon & mccarthy

[lorentzen-nicklaus]

 *** in "gravity's rainbow", before one gets to know weissmann's tarot (pp.     
     746-49), we read about slothrop's last appearance: "there's supposed to be 
     a last photograph of him on the only record album ever put out by The Fool, 
     an english rock group---seven musicians posed, in the arrogant style of the 
     early Stones, near an old rocket-bomb site, out in the east end, or south  
     of the river. it is spring, and french thyme blossoms in amazing white     
     lacework across the cape of green that now hides and softens the true shape 
     of the old rubble. there is no way to tell which of the faces is 
     slothrop's: the only printed credit that might apply to him is 'harmonica, 
     kazoo--- a friend.' but knowing his tarot, we would expect to look among 
     the humility, among the gray and preterite souls, to look for him adrift in 
     the hostile light of the sky, the darkness of the sea...." (p. 742)

     KNOW NAUGHT! ALL WAYS ARE LAWFUL TO INNOCENCE. PURE FOLLY IS THE KEY TO 
     INITIATION. SILENCE BREAKS INTO RAPTURE.

     in cormac mccarthy's "blood meridian or the evening redness in the west" 
     it goes on pp. 92f. (vintage international edition): "bueno, said the 
     juggler. bueno. he admonished caution with a forefinger to his thin lips 
     and took the card and held it aloft and turned with it. the card popped 
     once sharply. he looked at the company seated about the fire. they were 
     smoking, they were watching. he made a slow sweep before him with the card 
     outheld. it bore the picture of a fool in harlequin and a cat. el tonto, he 
     called./ el tonto, said the woman. she raised her chin slightly and she 
     began a singsong chant. the dark querent stood solemnly, like a man 
     arraigned. his eyes shifted over the company. the judge sat upwind from the 
     fire naked to the waist, himself like some great pale deity, and when the 
     black's eyes reached his he smiled. the woman ceased. the fire fled down 
     the wind./ quién, quién, cried the juggler./ she paused. el negro, she 
     said./ el negro, cried the juggler, turning with the card, his clothes 
     snapped in the wind. the woman raised her voice and spoke again and the 
     black turned to his mates./ what does she say?"
  
  
 kfl *