Chapters (60)
- Cover
- Title Page
- Personae
- I: Early Days
- One. Control
- Two. Doubt
- Three. Fate
- Four. Same
- Five. Fine Arts
- Six. In Loco Parentis
- Seven. Settling
- Eight. Neighbors
- Nine. Prospects
- Ten. The Lucky
- Eleven. Instruction
- Twelve. Same
- Thirteen. This Is a Pipe
- Fourteen. This Is Not a Pipe
- Fifteen. The Reason
- Sixteen. That Person
- Seventeen. Predictably
- II: Writing Teacher
- Eighteen. Early Poems
- Nineteen. Motivation
- Twenty. Allegory
- Twenty-One. Grief
- Twenty-Two. A Portrait
- Twenty-Three. Veils
- Twenty-Four. Soft Power
- Twenty-Five. Lists
- Twenty-Six. A Break
- Twenty-Seven. Elsewhere
- Twenty-Eight. Custom
- Twenty-Nine. Parity
- Thirty. Fortune
- III: Volta
- Thirty-One. Images
- Thirty-Two. A Very Interesting Young Man
- Thirty-Three. Letters
- Thirty-Four. We Prefer to See Ourselves Living
- Thirty-Five. Love
- Thirty-Six. The Iceberg
- IV: Your Best Reader
- Thirty-Seven. A Novelist
- Thirty-Eight. In Advance of the Broken Arm
- Thirty-Nine. Their Penultimate Encounter
- Forty. Détente
- Forty-One. Worlds
- Forty-Two. Recognition
- Forty-Three. Persistence
- Forty-Four. And Then
- Forty-Five. Mingling
- Forty-Six. You
- Forty-Seven. Persona
- Forty-Eight. Est et Non
- Forty-Nine. The Author
- Epilogue
- Afterword: The Libertine
- Acknowledgments
- About the Authors
“‘Oh!’ is right. This young brainiac studies the history of abnormal psychiatry in the U.S. I mean, it’s way over my head. Very technical stuff. People with congenital injuries and aggravated antisocialism and that kind of thing.”
Lizzie tells Harry, “I’m still in high school.”
“Stay in school,” Loudermilk preaches.
“Excuse me, but I am very much in school!” Lizzie sighs. They’re on a street at the outskirts of town with dying trees, a vacant lot, a funeral parlor on the hill just above them, and train tracks to the left. “Now,” says Lizzie, “roll the windows all the way up, pretty please.”
Loudermilk obliges. He starts to want to know what Lizzie’s connection to the Seminars is but she interrupts him: “Because you have been so very honorable toward me, I am going to smoke you guys out. How does that sound?”
Loudermilk shrugs. He unbuckles and settles back into his seat. Harry rolls his eyes.
Seven minutes later, Lizzie tells Loudermilk to drive them back out into the fields to release the incriminating vapor. She says someone could rat you out, you never know.
Loudermilk offers languid thanks. His right hand drifts toward the ignition but he only caresses the leather tag dangling from the key. Everyone seems OK with nothing happening.
“So are we going to the BBQ or not?” It’s Lizzie again.
“I don’t know,” Loudermilk says. “Are we?”
“Hello? Do you just not check your email? The BBQ! This is the time when you first get to see everyone? And be seen?”
Loudermilk shrugs. “Must have slipped my mind! I’m totally so all about the poetry. Sounds crazy, I know.”
“Not especially,” Lizzie tells him.
Nine. Prospects
Nine
Prospects
Before them is a green. And upon the green are fifty people. And on a table near a grill, beer cans and bottles verdantly glisten. Everyone is standing at least a foot away from everyone else.
If Harry were called upon to provide some sort of formal appraisal of this gathering, a first impression, as it were, he might choose a word like restrained or muted. But this does not look like a crowd of dreamy masturbators. They may indeed be masturbators, but if so they are masturbators of a weirdly self-aware and not very physical stripe. It is like the “popular nerd” of every North American high school clique known to 1995 has been summoned to this convocation; it’s a hive.
The tone of the gathering that Loudermilk and Harry are about to join is not lost on Loudermilk, who mutters, “Let’s try and cultivate your ability to be normal.”
Lizzie is already out of the car and, having slammed her door, skips squealing off.
Loudermilk shakes his head, produces a gentle clucking sound. He murmurs, “Ready to meet these cock-knockers?”