Ch 6 of V-2 Bad Ear or Eeeeeeraaaaah, wutsupdoc?

[Robin Landseadel]

	"Everybody talked in Spanish and Profane responded in what
	Italo-American he'd heard around the house as a kid. There
	was about 10 per cent communication but nobody cared."

Seeing as this is Monday, and we're supposed to be working on this  
book called "V.", allow me a few moments to disembowel, or if you  
prefer "deconstruct"  the uniquely unreadable dialogue or dialog in  
this, the sixth chapter of the young author's first novel.

There appears to be enough difficulty getting the patois of Chicano/ 
Latino refugees in the Big Apple down on paper that any fish-out-of- 
water aspect of Benny's return to street level is washed out by flat  
affect. There's a few Spanish language words thrown in in an attempt  
to capture that sound, but the author isn't paying attention to  
cadences, timing and other nuances that would make one character sound  
different from another. In a way, the author cops to his bad ear as  
Benny attempts to parrot back Spanish in similar guinea-speak.  
Otherwise, there's no sense that one character has a distinct sound  
differentiated from another character:

	"Why don't we go to a movie or something," she said. "This
	here," he answered, "is a good movie. Randolph Scott is this
	U.S. marshal and that sheriff, there he goes now, is getting paid
	off by the gang and all he does all day long is play fan-tan with
	a widow who lives up the hill."

	She withdrew after a while, sad and pouting.

	Why? Why did she have to behave like he was a human being.
	Why couldn't he be just an object of mercy. What did Fina have
	to go pushing it for? What did she want-which was a stupid
	question. She was a restless girl, this Josephine: warm and
	viscous-moving, ready to come in a flying machine or anyplace
	else.

	But curious, he decided to ask Angel.

	"How do I know," Angel said. "It's her business. She don't like
	anybody in the office. They are all maricon, she says. Except for
	Mr. Winsome the boss, but he's married so he's out."

	"What does she want to be," Profane said, "a career girl? What
	does your mother think?"

	"My mother thinks everybody should get married: me, Fina,
	Geronimo. She'll be after your ass soon. Fina doesn't want
	anybody. You, Geronimo, the Playboys. She doesn't want.
	Nobody knows what she wants."

	"Playboys," Profane said. "Wha."

	V. ~ 141 p