VLVL2(3): Junior Regional Semifinals

[Dave Monroe]

   "What the federal computers this morning had not
brought to Hector's attention was the the alleys today
were scheduled for junior regional semifinals.  Kids
were in town from all over the northern counties to
compete on these intricately mortsied masterpiece
alleys [...].  Balls struck pins, pins struck wood,
echoes of collision came thudering in from next door
along with herds of kids in different bowling jackets,
each carrying at least one ball in a bag plus
precarious stacks of sodas and food, each squeaking
open the screen door between lanes and restaurants,
letting it squeak shut into the next kid, who'd squeak
it open again." (VL, Ch. 3, p. 26)


Cf. ...

"Rip Van Winkle"

(1819) A story by Washington Irving. The title
character goes to sleep after a game of bowling and
much drinking in the mountains with a band of dwarves.
He awakens twenty years later, an old man. Back home,
Rip finds that all has changed: his wife is dead, his
daughter is married, and the American Revolutionary
War has taken place.

http://www.bartleby.com/59/6/ripvanwinkle.html

   On nearer approach, he was still more surprised at
the singularity of the stranger’s appearance. He was a
short, square-built old fellow, with thick bushy hair,
and a grizzled beard. His dress was of the antique
Dutch fashion—a cloth jerkin strapped around the
waist—several pair of breeches, the outer one of ample
volume, decorated with rows of buttons down the sides,
and bunches at the knees. He bore on his shoulders a
stout keg, that seemed full of liquor, and made signs
for Rip to approach and assist him with the load.
Though rather shy and distrustful of this new
acquaintance, Rip complied with his usual alacrity,
and mutually relieving one another, they clambered up
a narrow gully, apparently the dry bed of a mountain
torrent. As they ascended, Rip every now and then
heard long rolling peals, like distant thunder, that
seemed to issue out of a deep ravine, or rather cleft
between lofty rocks, toward which their rugged path
conducted. He paused for an instant, but supposing it
to be the muttering of one of those transient thunder
showers which often take place in mountain heights, he
proceeded. Passing through the ravine, they came to a
hollow, like a small amphitheater, surrounded by
perpendicular precipices, over the brinks of which
impending trees shot their branches, so that you only
caught glimpses of the azure sky and the bright
evening cloud. During the whole time, Rip and his
companion had labored on in silence; for though the
former marveled greatly what could be the object of
carrying a keg of liquor up this wild mountain, yet
there was something strange and incomprehensible about
the unknown that inspired awe and checked familiarity.

   On entering the amphitheater, new objects of wonder
presented themselves. On a level spot in the center
was a company of odd-looking personages playing at
ninepins. They were dressed in a quaint, outlandish
fashion: some wore short doublets, others jerkins,
with long knives in their belts, and most had enormous
breeches, of similar style with that of the guide’s.  
Their visages, too, were peculiar: one had a large
head, broad face, and small, piggish eyes; the face of
another seemed to consist entirely of nose, and was
surmounted by a white sugar-loaf hat set off with a
little red cock’s tail. They all had beards, of
various shapes and colors....
   What seemed particularly odd to Rip, was that
though these folks were evidently amusing themselves,
yet they maintained the gravest faces, the most
mysterious silence, and were, withal, the most
melancholy party of pleasure he had ever witnessed.
Nothing interrupted the stillness of the scene but the
noise of the balls, which, whenever they were rolled,
echoed along the mountains like rumbling peals of
thunder.
   What seemed particularly odd to Rip, was that
though these folks were evidently amusing themselves,
yet they maintained the gravest faces, the most
mysterious silence, and were, withal, the most
melancholy party of pleasure he had ever witnessed.
   His companion now emptied the contents of the keg
into large flagons, and made signs to him to wait upon
the company. He obeyed with fear and trembling; they
quaffed the liquor in profound silence, and then
returned to their game.
  By degrees, Rip’s awe and apprehension subsided. He
even ventured, when no eye was fixed upon him, to
taste the beverage, which he found had much of the
flavor of excellent Hollands. He was naturally a
thirsty soul, and was soon tempted to repeat the
draught. One taste provoked another, and he reiterated
his visits to the flagon so often, that at length his
senses were overpowered, his eyes swam in his head,
his head gradually declined, and he fell into a deep
sleep.

http://www.bartleby.com/195/4.html
   
http://www.cwrl.utexas.edu/~daniel/amlit/rvw/rvwtext.html

>From David Thoreen, "Thomas Pynchon's Political
Parable: Parallels between Vineland and 'Rip Van
Winkle,'" ANQ: A Quarterly Journal of Short Articles,
Notes, and Reviews, Vol. 14, No. 3 (Summer 2001) ...  

   "As a historical novelist whose subject is America
and whose passion is politics, Thomas Pynchon is aware
of the twentieth-century evolution of 'the imperial
presidency.'  Vineland (1990), Pynchon's fourth novel,

reflects the steady encroachment in that century of
the executive branch on the legislative and dramatizes
some of the attendant threats to Americans' civil
liberties. It is fitting, then, that Pynchon has
embedded in his novel an extended parallel to an early
American political parable, Washington Irving's 'Rip
Van Winkle.' [...] the thematic concerns of "Rip Van
Winkle" are distinctly American and are quite relevant
to Vineland and the presidential usurpation of power
in the 1980s.

[...]

   "Vineland is Pynchon's wake-up call to the American
voter, who, like Rip Van Winkle and Pynchon's own
protagonist Zoyd Wheeler, has been asleep for twenty
years...."

http://waste.org/mail/?list=pynchon-l&month=0307&msg=83392&sort=date

http://ask.elibrary.com/


"screen door"

screen door salesman
447; "dumb and easygoing" husband of woman in
Slothrop's dream in three parts; 665, "Minnie Calkins
(Chapter 1.793) got married Easter Sunday to a
screen-door salesman from California. Sorry to say
he's not eligible for Membership--at least not yet.
But with all those screen doors around, we'll sure
keep our fingers crossed!"

http://www.hyperarts.com/pynchon/gravity/alpha/s.html

Grid
"a glittering map. . .ruled off into 576 squares" 55;
[...] "screen door salesman" 447; [...] See also
chess; routinization/rationalization of charisma

http://www.hyperarts.com/pynchon/gravity/alpha/g.html

__________________________________
Do you Yahoo!?
Yahoo! SiteBuilder - Free, easy-to-use web site design software
http://sitebuilder.yahoo.com