Bianca

[Monte Davis]

Ray:
> what is there *in the text itself* that leads you 
> to conclude that the Slothrup and Bianca episode is an instance of 
> "control"?

Ummm... First, the word "control" doesn't appear in my post. I spoke more
broadly (hand-wavingly, if you will) of "*all* the intersections, blendings
and confusions of power and sexuality," of "Powers... within and without"
that are at work when you think it's just the two of you.

OK, in the case of Bianca I'd illustrate that with:

1) "He knows he’s vulnerable, more than he should be, to pretty little
girls... [description of Bianca] . . . help, help. Why do these things have
to keep coming down on him? He can see the obit now in Time magazine— Died,
Rocketman, pushing 30, in the Zone, of lust." (463)

Slothrop as victim -- not a chance against Bianca's erotic power, and he'll
die if (occasion permitting) he doesn't give in.

2) "...what’s she doing with her finger posed aside of one dimpled cheek
like this—at which point  
comes the band’s intro, and pre-vomit saliva begins to gush into Slothrop’s
mouth, along with a horrible doubt into his brain about how he is going to
make it through the next few minutes.
	Not only is her song 'On the Good Ship Lollipop,' but she is also
now commencing, without a trace of shame, to *grunt* her way through it, in
perfect mimickry of young Shirley Temple..." (465-466)

Slothrop is Ground Zero for pop culture influences, and at that time the
Jon-Benet Ramsey Chair of Not-Quite-Young-Womanhood rotated among ringletted
Shirley, Judy Garland in her gingham, and (nipping in at the post in 1944)
Elizabeth Taylor with all that power between her thighs. Slothrop *knows*
he's being fed an elaborate riff on a Hollywood archetype, and he
loves/hates it -- both saliva and vomit.

3) "Slothrop here’s been dreaming about Llandudno... White Rabbit’s been
talking to Slothrop, serious and crucial talk, but on the way up to waking
he loses it all, as usual..." (468)

Hey, nobody's responsible for his *dreams*. That Alice, her whole *book*
turned out to be a dream, right? "I've been watching you sleep," Bianca says
(and a tip o' the hat to Proust's dreaming Allbertine!) As many have noted,
from beginning to end this encounter is hedged with deniability, sleep at
first and a blow on the head later; the whole thing could be nothing more
than "in the corner of his vision... a flutter of red" (468) now, and
something "dancing dead-white and scarlet at the edges of his sight" (532)
later.

4)  "...red taffeta... a tiny black corset... Satin straps, adorned with
intricately pornographic needlework, run down each thigh to hold up
stockings with tops of dark Alençon lace." (469) 

Another set of erotic archetypes, pushing buttons that Slothrop probably
developed closer to Harvard than to Mingeborough.

5) "...she has him all figured out. Knows exactly when to take her mouth
away and stand 
up... She posts, his pretty horsewoman, thightop muscles strung hard as
cable..." (469-470)

Surely one element of the pornography of innocence is: the younger and more
virginal she is, the more I'm da Man by defauilt -- she can't rate me, judge
me, find me inept or inexperienced. Here we get the best of both worlds:
Bianca starts by seeking Slothrop's protection from mean Margherita, ends by
hoping to run away and hide with him, lotsa Disneyish "chickadee... fern
lashes... small rodent hands." But iin the act itself. boy, is she HOT!
Who's in the saddle here?   

So... is this an instance of "control"? In the real-world police-blotter
sense of "Choirmaster, 28, hides his face from news cameras after
arraignment for sex with 12- [or 16-]year-old soprano," where our first
thoughts are of inequalty, inequity, the victimage of the younger party?
Absolutely not.   

In the sense I was driving at -- that that this genuinely erotic (and yes --
holding out my wrists for the cuffs -- genuinely hot) encounter is jammed
full of the Powers that have shaped Slothrop's arousal and Bianca's
precocity (or corruption, take your pick)? You betcha. 

When our fondest hopes are for just the two of them, are we forcibly
reminded that the narrow berth also contains Dr. Jamf and two centuries of
lingerie porn and Margherita's scars, Sacher-Masoch and the whole production
crew of Alpdrucken? And that at the height of their intimacy, sky-tall
figures at the horizon are looking through the storm, right through the
hull-plates and bulkheads of the Anubis, and checking it all off against a
plan?  

Now everybody---