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
“Because I told them about you! I mean, not told told, but I, you know, told them something, about how I have this stellar friend who’s, like, this complete surreal genius although he has these pretty severe emotional handicaps, and now, believe it or not, they want to meet you. You’re expressly invited. I can’t fucking go without you.”
Harry reminds Loudermilk that he’s been introduced to Marta once before. He also reminds Loudermilk, in case he’s forgotten, that what he’s telling these people is complete and utter bullshit?
Loudermilk counters with something about how this is a hazard of their current working conditions. Or, he says, he means their current free-money, nonworking conditions! He says it would be greatly appreciated if Harry would for one hot millisecond stop obsessing over minor details and gaze at the grand scheme. He asks Harry if he, Loudermilk, needs to remind him, Harry, that today is Thanksgiving, the American day of thankful giving, and from where he, Loudermilk, stands, the two of them have a lot to be thankful for, Harry in particular.
Harry doesn’t reply. He would like to be removed from the present by any possible means. He dislikes Loudermilk so much in this moment! But he also feels very keenly the lack of any alternative. For the true problem isn’t Loudermilk. The true problem is that Harry doesn’t care enough about the generally social project of living. Harry knows this now. Unlike Loudermilk—who, for all his vile habits, is really quite committed to humanity—Harry can’t involve himself. He can’t work himself up the way Loudermilk does. In fact, Harry mostly doesn’t care at all.
It’s a typical mood and a natural predilection of Harry’s. It’s a way he wants to be—an idea he has about how he’d like to spend his day, which is to say, in punishing solitude. Nothing about life, for Harry, is integrally informed by the fact of the presence of others and all their difficulties and the need to deal. It’s not some kind of far-reaching machination as it is for Loudermilk. It’s just not how Harry sees things, because Harry doesn’t, in fact, “see.”
Anyway, Loudermilk knows this. Loudermilk says, “You see my point.”
Harry tells him, “Fuck your point,” but he gets up and goes into his room and puts on his one nice shirt and comes back out.
“Stellar,” observes Loudermilk.
They walk over to the Hillary residence. The campus is a tomb.
Harry wants to know if Loudermilk has any idea who else will be there.
“Dude, I really do not know. Do the math. It was enough for me that we got the invite.”
They are approaching the front door. Loudermilk does this little neurotic touch of his hair that informs Harry that Loudermilk is in some way excited about what is about to transpire.