I don't care what you think about how you feel, if you say you heart Henry James you're a liar. You are, perhaps (not to say probably), lying to yourself, but you are in any case a liar. I don't mind. It's not my problem, but it's something you might want to know about yourself.
If you claim to heart William James, on the other hand, I believe you, because you're Tariq, and Tariq is a lot of things, but he's not a liar. Quite the contrary. Tariq vomits truth like a drunken frat boy regurgitating Big Macs and Heinekin. Usually gratuitously, often inappropriately, but not exactly always either. Besides which, William James thinks I'm a prophet, so he's obviously got a line on something good.
All that being said, it's hard for me to fathom that anyone - liars and truth tellers alike - could possibly be so enamored of either esteemed author as to generate fan fiction in their honor. But there it is, in spite of my failed imagination. A woman named Paula Marantz Cohen has written a novel about the James brothers and their invalid sister, Alice, imagining the three as investigators of the ever-captivating case of Jack the Ripper. I can't speak for the rest of the book, but the first paragraph has Henry fully blitzed, dining insensibly with Oscar Wilde and sundry society hangers-on. It's funny, this first paragraph, but I stopped there because I've been so damaged by Henry James' contribution to the literary canon that I'm unable to read anything at all with his name printed in, on or near it without developing a mild headache and a sudden compulsion to watch reality television.
Does anyone know what time Dancing with the Stars comes on?
I still get Henry James and Henry Miller mixed up... I think Henry James wrote Daisy Miller and that was the birth of my confusion. And I think Henry Miller wrote Tropic on Cancer, which was supposed to be rather dirty, but I never got far enough into it to find out. Too many Henry's, really. Also, I think you spelled Heineken wrong.
ReplyDelete-Your sister
I'm fine with Henry James and Henry Miller, it's Henry Miller and Arthur Miller that confuse me. And I doubt that Henry Miller cares to be mistaken for the man who wrote "Death of a Salesman". Tough luck, Hank. Also, it's "Tropic OF Cancer (and Capricorn)" not "Tropic ON..." And you're probably right about Heineken.
ReplyDelete-Your Sister
Kyna, you gift for prose is unparalleled. Your words wash over me like the waves on a tropical beach lap upon the behind of a dead sea turtle that just could not make it all the way to dry land. I get half the effect, but the wish to have my mouth whetted with all the profundities you have to offer. I aspire to understand your greatness.
ReplyDelete