Re: IVIV: chapter seven—Eel Trovatore

[malignd at aol.com]

And I should have added that to be critical of Dylan or anyone else is 
not to express the assumption that he needs the critic's approval.  It 
means the critic thinks that what Dylan has written or sung is not 
good.  Dylan has written and sung a lot of crap over his long career.



Well I am not--nor I suspect are most others on this list--"young"
critics of TRP.  Many, if not most of us, have been reading him for
many years, decades even.   And, in any case, the criticism is not just
against what I clearly think is not very good writing, but--and here I
get astride my hobby horse--the knee-jerk response to whatever he
writes as brilliant. 
 

<< it's hard to imagine anyone more brilliantly acidic than this
waitress.>> 
 

This doesn't strike you as overstatement? 
 

It reminds me of young music critics writing about Dylan as though he
needed their approval and they have a few good pointers for him. It
just sounds stupid.  
 


-----Original Message----- 

From: Joseph Tracy <brook7 at sover.net> 

To: pynchon-l at waste.org 

Sent: Wed, Sep 23, 2009 3:56 pm 

Subject: Re: IVIV: chapter seven—Eel Trovatore 
 

 

 

 

On Sep 23, 2009, at 1:13 PM, Ray Easton wrote:  

  
 

> Robin Landseadel wrote:  
 

>> What appalls me about these criti
cs is that they are placing >>
themselves above the author  
 

>  
 

> Any new work by a great writer deserves serious and thoughtful >
consideration.  A "good reader" should strive to understand the > work
on its own terms, rather than immediately rejecting it because > he
cannot "connect to" or comprehend it.  A "good reader" should > indeed
suspend judgment, but does not mean that he should simply > abando 

n
judgment altogether.  If it's a bad thing to place oneself > above the
author, it is equally certain that it's a bad thing to > place oneself
below the author, and is a sort of idolatry that > seems particularly
inappropriate when applied to a writer with > TRP's (apparent) views.  
 

>  
 

> Ray  
 

> /  
 

> /  
 

I agree that idolatry is inappropriate but if an author has gained a
reader's respect and if the critical and popular response and
understanding has frequently lagged behind the publication of the work,
then a bit more care is in order.  As Picasso or some smartass said,
the good art judges us. I do agree with Robin that placing yourself as
a book critic above Pynchon is careless and often appalling. It reminds
me of young music critics writing about Dylan as though he needed their
approval and they have a few good pointers for him. It just sounds
stupid.  
0A
  
 

By the way, back to the Eel Travatore,  I just read a chapter on
detoxification in a book called Diet for a Poisoned Planet.  The author
grew up fishing and eating fish off Santa Monica until he read a study
in the 80s showing LA fish eaters had highly elevated levels of DDT and
PCB's in their blood. The author had himself tested and was in the same
boat . So the waitress Chlorinda was offering a sound warning that
informed L.A. readers may take more literally than met 

aphorically. (
Detox involves  niacin, utraviolet and sauna which the globe is abou to
try)  

  
 

I  think Pynchon is exploring the collective tribal roots of the
ecological assault on the planet. What draws people into these nasty
arrangements?, where will resistance come from?  
 

Modern  Tribes-    cops  
 

               military  
 

               stewardii and Jet Setters  
 

               surfers ( I would extend this to climbers, hikers,
sailors, kayakers, environmentalists)  
 

               stoners ( which concludes the 3 s es)  
 

               dentists( god knows what this stands for but extreme
interrogation comes to mind)  
 

              20musicians  
 

               realtors  
 

               insurance and banking  
 

               bikers and thugs for hire  
 

               spies and agents  
 

               lawyers  
 

On board were the 12: cops and stewardii, stoners bankers and realtors.
They were the Gods of yore though Gods they were...  
 

Way down, way doooooown Below the Ocean, Where I want to be and she
made me.