Re: IVIV: chapter seven—Eel Trovatore

[rich]

Il Travatore being the ultimate story of gypsy revenge, maybe a sly
joke by Pynchon about the tricks such sustinence will play on one's
internal organs, acid stomach so forth?

rich



On 9/22/09, Robin Landseadel <robinlandseadel at comcast.net> wrote:
> On Sep 21, 2009, at 7:48 PM, Bekah wrote:
>
>> It's very odd how different parts of IV appeal to different people
>> here.   Imagine me looking up the highways and race & beach-music
>> stuff while others are more into the lit-crit or sociology or
>> politics or musicology or films.    I really want to check out the
>> restaurants someone asked about.
>>
>> Bekah
>> who drove a 1963 VW with lots of bug and flower decals on it.
>
> Well, if you're into Pynchonian menus like I am, the Belaying Pin is
> your kind of eatery:
>
> 	''I'm Chlorinda, what'll it be," A waitress in a combination Nehru
> 	jacket and Hawaiian-print shirt, just long enough to qualify as a
> 	minidress, and with a set of vibes that didn't help sharpen
> 	anybody's appetite.
>
> 	"Ordinarily I'd go for the Admiral's Luau," Sauncho more
> 	diffident than Doc expected, "but today I guess I'll just have the
> 	 house anchovy loaf to start and, urn, the devil-ray filet, can I get
> 	 that deep-fried in beer batter?"
>
> 	"Your stomach isn't it. How about you, l'il buddy?"
>
> 	"Mmm!" Doc scanning the menu, ''All this good eatin'!" while
> 	Sauncho kicked him under the table.
>
> 	"If my husband dared to eat any of this shit, I'd throw him out on
> 	his ass and drop all his Iron Butterfly albums out the window
> 	after him."
>
> 	"Trick question," Doc said hastily. "The, uh, jellyfish teriyaki
> 	croquettes I guess? and the Eel Trovatore?"
>
> 	''And to drink, gentlemen. You'll want to be good and fucked up
> 	by the time this arrives. I'd recommend Tequila Zombies, they
> 	work pretty quick." She stalked away scowling.
>
> I guess the first thing to note here is that attempt at a miniskirt—
> distaff members of the list ought to have a field-day with the risible
> dress code of this book.  There's lots of outfits designed for "free
> love" the kind of romantic engagement that usually leads us to:
>
> 	. . . the unspoken footnote that the word* these days was being
> 	way too overused. Anybody with any claim to hipness "loved"
> 	everybody, not to mention other useful applications, like
> 	hustling people into sexual activities they might not, given the
> 	choice, much car to engage in.
> 	IV, 5
>
> * Have you heard? The word is "Love."
>
> Mind you, this scene follows immediately after the line—
>
> 	"what old karma lies unavenged, waiting its moment."
>
> . . . and note how often vengeance in Pynchon's novel's appears in the
> form of diabolical things to be eaten, such as the way Brigadier
> Pudding's old karma worked itself out.
>
> Then there's Chlorinda—it's usually spelled Clorinda. The name comes
> from a Latin expression meaning "Brilliant." Adding the "H"
> contributes Chlorine from which we can derive hydrochloric acid,
> something that  ''All this good eatin'!"  will doubtless increase the
> level of. Chlorinda is yet another brief walk-on but it's hard to
> imagine anyone more brilliantly acidic than this waitress.
>
> Of course the "l'il buddy?" not only sends us back to Gilligan's Isle,
> but connects Doc to  Gilligan, thus connecting Doc to one of the
> better known Potheads in Hollywood, Bob Denver.
>
>
>
>