But Professor Skizzen had noticed that God was always excused. Any and every God. For any and every thing. A tornado might trash a trailer park and the poor wretches who survived would think to thank him for sparing them, as well as preserving a children’s plate and one photo of the family grinning at the Falls asif they’d pushed the water over by themselves.
Perhaps the Gods alternated fucking off. “I won’t interfere with the destruction of the temple, if you won’t prevent the crucifixion of the Savior.” The pagans, the Christians, and the Muslims had taken turns burning the Library of Alexandria, but it was a moment of rare coöperation. Most of the time the celestial bodies were at one another’s throats. The thought of burning drove Joseph to his attic where there was nothing but paper, sticky strings of clippings, rows of books, piles of magazines, stacks of newsprint, rolls of placards and posters, so he was always frightened by any word that implied ignition. The fact that burning had occurred to him was significant. Set those mountains of painful testimony ablaze, shred the evidence, erase the stories: of the young woman who was raped by her judges in punishment of the adultery of her brother, for instance. Out of what dark corner of the human mind…? or is it all dark, even in the light? or do our murderous desires lie hidden in the closet of the entry? under the runner unrolled down the hall? or disguised as that spot under the dining table where the rug is stained? By whom are we ruled if not by our nature? Remove all signs of those murderers who now make movies of themselves going through their grisly motions; and there will remain the badgering of sweet maids by their horny masters or the drowning of babies in their baths. It is impossible to conceal all the evidence. Yet how easily we forget who we really are. Because it should give us the creepts. His father’s plight had been desperate indeed, for where could one go, really, to stay clean—worse, who could one be to be tolerable?
—William Gass, Middle C, Alfred A. Knopf, 2013
I picked up a copy of this recently, and am eager to get started on it! Is it good? I’ve heard a few mixed things, but I’m a big admirer of William Gass.
Remarkably, it’s an exciting time for elderly American authors, in spite of Philip Roth’s retirement. I just read James Salter’s new novel, ALL THAT IS (his first in thirty-four years), and thought it was great. I also liked Toni Morrison’s latest. Herman Wouk published a book last year at age 97! The great Norman Rush will be 80 when his next novel comes out this fall. It almost makes 75 year-old Thomas Pynchon (who also has a new one coming out), seem positively youthful in comparison. E.L. Doctorow and Don DeLillo are still doing good work too.
That man’s got himself a strong name, I’ll give him that.