AtDTDA (37) p. 1061/1062The Integroscope

[robinlandseadel at comcast.net]

What was the transition to "Modernism?"

The transition from the era covered in Against the Day to the 
"modern" era presents yet another overlay of what would be Merle's 
future—OUR PRESENT—being applied over the final scene of the 
fourth section, the section bearing as its title the title of the novel. 
Merle's Integroscope seems to be picking up more than the usual 
guided tours of alternate futures. This time around, the element of 
sound is incorporated with the "movies" generated by Merle's 
new-fangled bit of alchemical invention. Alchemy [from Merle's
side] gets combined with a bit of Tesla's magic as Merle decides 
to check out daughter Dally via the integroscope. Usually Merle
limited himself to those times he actually spent with his industrious
and adaptable daughter, but this time he wants to ride it out to his 
present. . .

Merle sees that Dally has stopped off at the site of a fantastically powerful
radio transmitter, a near twin of that inescapable tourist attractor, the 
Eiffel Tower, Seeing—more importantly Knowing—that his daughter at 
the very moment he establishes visual contact is broadcasting from
said tower, Merle switches on for his radio receiver 

          . . . .its tubes blooming in an indigo haze. . . .   
          . . . .A distant grown woman's voice propagating through 
          the night. . . .   
          . . . .she returned the gaze, smiling, speaking without hurry, 
          as if somehow she could see him too.

The movie is nearly synched, just a few more ghosts to exorcise from the 
machine. We are moving towards the now:

          Moving now toward the kind of light where at last the 
          apple is apple-colored. The knife cuts through like a 
          knife cutting an apple. Everything is where it is, no 
          clearer than usual, but certainly more present. 
          GR, p. 774 [penguin]

          One mild and ordinary work-morning in Chicago, Lew 
          happened to find himself on a public conveyance, head 
          and eyes inclined nowhere in particular, when he entered, 
          all too briefly, a condition he had no memory of having 
          sought, which he later came to think of as grace. . . .

          He understood that things were exactly what they were. 
          It seemed more than he could bear. . . .AtD, p. 42

Some would call this state of consciousness "illumination."