Brenda's Inside Saneside

[Mark Kohut]

This is where Pynchon's Brenda was born....not Goodbye, Columbus, nice guess 
Mark,,,,I have almost no doubt. 



________________________________
From: Erik T. Burns <eburns at gmail.com>
To: pynchon-l at waste.org
Sent: Mon, March 21, 2011 7:16:02 PM
Subject: Brenda's Inside Saneside

This is probably a great way to scare everyone away from _The Recognitions_ but 
fear thee not, it is simply part of a great drunken ramble, in no way 
representative of Gaddis' prose over the other 900+ pages.

But I did hear an echo with the end of _V._ here:  
_V._

He'd not come: she  came to herself - or at least to the inviolable Puritan 
she'd show up as  come marriage and the Good Life, someday soon now - in a bar's 
parking lot  near a canal, filled with a hundred black bicycles: her junkyard, 
her own  locust season. Skeletons, carapaces, no matter: her inside too was her 
 outside and on she went, streak-blond, far-from-frail Brenda, along the  Rhine, 
up and down the soft slopes of the wine districts, into the Tyrol and  out into 
Tuscany, all in a rented Morris whose fuel pump clicked random and  loud in 
times of stress; as did her camera, as did her heart.

_The Recognitions_ p.399
Above, another blue day, (upstairs) the room papered with green capped 
pink-faced dogs, and the button drawer, only apparitions move to perfection, 
there! Pray the Lord to keep you from lying, there, O spectral stabat mater may 
I go out and play the violin outside to the town wearing its sinside inside and 
not a soul in sight. Church bells inspissated the air, dropping it in sharp 
fragments. He sat down in his place at table, excused by the falling weights of 
the bells, and motionless when they had done. There, old vicary, congratulate my 
refuge, the saneside outside sheltering the insane inside: to present the static 
sane side outside to another outside saneside, to be esteemed for that outsane 
side while all the while the insanside attacks your outsane side as though we 
weren't both playing the same game, and gone down Summer Street (singing 
unchristian songs) the inane sinside, pocketing a cool million wearing the 
shoutside outside and doubtside inside, the vileside inside and the violinside 
outside skipping dancing and foretelling things too come all ye faithful, of 
thine own give we back to thee.


      
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