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From:
[email protected] (Chris Porter)
Newsgroups: alt.etext,alt.zines,rec.arts.books
Subject: (news)letter 1:20
Date: 11 Jul 1994 20:25:57 -0400
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(news)letter
"Say the thing with which you labor."
Thoreau
from the porter micro.press
Volume 1, Number 20 July 10, 1994
_________________________________________________________________
Happy Birthday to Fully, Thursday. May you continue to defy
entropy.
And thanks to Bob Porter for letting me use his photo (in the
print edition).
Please send suggestions and submissions.
To get on the mailing list, send your name and address to:
CTPorter 117-A S. Mendenhall St. Greensboro, NC 27403
or e-mail
[email protected]
Your input is appreciated.
For a while I was willing to give the media the benefit of the
doubt about their handling of the O.J. Simpson case, but their
coverage of the pre-trial hearing has been horrible. I couldn't,
originally, understand why everyone was so upset with the media
because this is, after all, a huge story the likes of which don't
come around that often. Even the infamous chase that wasn't a
chase almost demanded to be covered because it was breaking news
and who knows what could have happened, especially with the rumor
that O.J. had a gun to his head. But while finding myself riveted
to the television screen last week, watching the various live
testimonies, I had the sudden insight that before then I had been
in New York City where my hostess didn't have a television and I
didn't always buy the morning paper. I had not seen the media
coverage that I so blithely excused.
This pre-trial coverage shocked me because it was so inept,
so extraneous. Why does California even allow cameras in their
courtrooms? I watched ABC's coverage and realized that they were
absolutely lost -- their law correspondent hesitated to say
anything worthwhile because of the accumulated wisdom of the
"experts" who waited to give their own opinions after her. And
why so many "experts"? Expert A would say one thing; Expert B
would rebut that with something somewhat contradictory; and
Expert C would concentrate on something completely different
after which they'd go through the lineup again. Expert A would
take issue with Expert B; Expert B would cancel out the first,
again; and Expert C would continue on that different tack. That
was the rhythm of the commentary. Nothing constructive was
accomplished whatsoever. ABC would then have a recap during the
evening programming, either on one of the various news magazines
or on Nightline, in which they would return to and re-analyze the
day's testimonies and decisions. THAT'S TOO MUCH! It was
compelling, seeing the folks testify, but who needs to know these
things immediately? It will all come out in the course of the
trial, why dwell on it so heavily during a pre-trial?
And while I fault the media for their eagerness to cover
every development in this case, I also think they're being used
by both sides. Maybe it's time that the state of California re-
examine whatever law it is that allows television cameras in the
courtrooms. Not one of the big shot lawyers on the defense team
is camera shy -- these guys love to flaunt their expertise. It
seems as if all of this publicity fits right into each team's
wishes, but does it hinder justice in the end? How are they going
to find an unbiased jury after all this? Wouldn't it be better
for the families Nicole Brown Simpson and Ronald Goldman if the
cameras were turned off and the rest of America was forced back
on their own concerns?
A Duke of Hurl
And speaking of the media, I read in the current Virginia
Quarterly Review (393-402) an excerpt from a speech given by Paul
Duke to the National Press Club in which he derides the current
state of affairs in the media. Duke has been in Washington since
the late 1950s, and has hosted PBS' "Washington Week in Review"
for the last twenty years, so he's seen a few developments during
his tenure. He waxes nostalgic about the good old days when he
first came to Washington, including the fact that only twelve
reporters went with then-President Eisenhower when he went on a
tour of the South. Now a whole phalanx of folks dog every step
the President makes, more often than not reporting on pseudo-
events that don't deserve to make the news. It's almost a
paradox: if there are news reporters at an event then that event
becomes worthy of being reported. Reporting on pseudo-events
hurts the whole industry, according to Duke: "The surrender to
superficiality may be accelerating as we grow accustomed to a
new, lower-denominator type of news programming, thus adding to
the medium's credibility crisis" (400). When news reporters
announce not only the news but some commercials as well, where
are their loyalties, their ideals towards their work? With the
corporations that ultimately employ them or with the job of
reporting the "news"? The solution, Duke argues, is for reporters
to re-dedicate themselves to the ideals that supposedly drove the
old-timers, as expressed in the reporter's old adage, "to comfort
the afflicted and afflict the comfortable" (401). I don't know
how realistic that hope is in this new corporate economy, it's
like asking networks to lay off the O.J. Simpson case. The
corporate logic is that they give the people what the people
want, and until what "we want" changes, why should they change?
Corinna's Gone a-Fairing
There's an article in the current Harper's magazine, David Foster
Wallace's "Ticket to the Fair" (35-54) that I enjoyed because it
gave a wonderful look at a somewhat foreign world. Harper's
frequently has a special article labeled "Harper's Folio" which
is longer than the regular feature articles, and I've grown to
really look forward to these works. Wallace, a Prairie State
native, returns to Illinois to cover the State Fair. He really
seems to have fun covering this "event," more so because it runs
so counter to his adopted Eastern, big city expectations. When a
woman friend is turned upside down in a ride so the operators can
look up her dress, the author is shocked by her lack of
indignation:
In New York a woman who'd been hung upside down and ogled
would get a whole lot of other women together and there'd be
this frenzy of eroto-political indignation. They'd confront
the guy. File an injunction. The management would find
themselves litigating ... (42)
And this woman only wants pork skins! This fair is all about
baton twirlers, livestock shows, boxing matches, disreputable
carny operators who run the rides, the omnipresent McDonald's
tent, and especially, always, the crowds, the hordes of people
who pay the exorbitant prices just to jostle each other, stand in
line and eat sugary, fatty foods. Wallace writes fiction and to
report on something is exotic enough; to really feel the
differences between regions in the country is his biggest
surprise.
The East Coast existential treat is escape from confines and
stimuli -- quiet rustic vistas that hold still, turn inward,
turn away. Not so in the rural Midwest. Here you're pretty
much away all the time. ... Thus the urge physically to
commune, melt, become part of a crowd. To see something
besides land and grass and corn and cable TV and your wife's
face. Hence the sacredness out here of spectacle, public
event ... (54)
Reading this I realized why I've never been to a State Fair, at
least not in the last quarter century. Who needs the aggravation?
'The Misfit' on Prozac
Cormac McCarthy is a hot writer being pushed by everybody it
seems, so of course I had to read one of his books, see what all
of the fuss is about. He has been compared to William Faulkner
and certainly the book that I read, Child of God, reminds me of
Faulkner's style, but it doesn't reach the lyrical heights that
Faulkner could reach. This is the story of Lester Ballard, a
psychotic in the hills of East Tennessee who turns to murder and
necrophilia and living in caves. Nobody in town likes Lester,
he's always been a bully and no one has really stood up to him --
his intensity and lack of concern for being liked make him a
tough customer. One of the strengths of this book is the way that
McCarthy keeps reminding us of the role of the community --
chapters that deal only with the reaction of various onlookers
are interspersed between the latest Ballard outrages. As a result
we are reminded of the greatest strength as well as a particular
weakness of Appalachian communities like this: the space that
they allow their deviants with the "he's not hurting me"
attitude. So Ballard's activities continue much longer than they
should. In the end Lester Ballard does not compare favorably with
the outlaws that Faulkner or Flannery O'Connor created. He lacks
the dignity that those other writers could instill even in a
grotesque character. Lester Ballard is a sick punk, pure and
simple, and not once did I feel that he might have been an
interesting character if his background were different. While
certainly he had a tough childhood, in the end Lester is just a
petulant, unattractive bully who should have had his butt kicked
more often. But read this story -- it has a quick pace and is a
wonderfully written gothic horror.
Love is a Many Splintered Thing
Several of the stories that I read this past week were concerned
with marital relationships, as in the latest Virginia Quarterly
Review, Ann Beattie's "Fireback" (421-429) and Alan Broughton's
"A Tour of the Islands" (480-503). "Fireback" takes place over
the course of several years, and when we meet the narrator she is
working on her dissertation and teaching at the University of New
Hampshire. She keeps running into a former student and as their
relationship evolves she realizes that this lanky comic who
failed on the circuit because of stage fright just might be more
of a soulmate to her than is her husband. When faced with a
decision between the two, she chooses the husband and moves away
with him, never to see her ex-student again. Years later, on a
return to the University, she is persuaded to visit her old
apartment, a place that rekindles memories of that long-ago
flame. She is shocked to find a detail in the fireplace that she
had never noticed in her years living there:
a demon's face suddenly leaped up, black and unmistakably
evil, electrified by flame, a coiled serpent stacked around
its neck, a horrific face squinting in the flames, turning
first blue, then red, then green as color-saturated
pinecones erupted in front of the fireback. ... I must have
always failed to see it. It must have stared out during the
happy times and the sad, silent in fire or cold, the one
witness of me in another man's arms, my guardian angel cast
as a terrifying monster. (429)
I don't know what it signifies, there at the end. Is Beattie
telling us that things are not as we remember them? That the
narrator made the wrong choice? The right choice? Having to reach
our own conclusion strengthens this story because in the end the
reader has to decide for him or herself, not have it laid out all
perfect and neat.
"A Tour of the Islands" involves a juxtaposition of two
marriages: a widower's memories of a similar tour taken over the
same Greek islands with his now-deceased wife, and the younger
couple who somewhat befriend him. This story is told in two
different styles as well, with an omniscient narrator providing
one point of view, and the widower's journal entries providing
another. The younger couple, Abel and Monica Dworkin, keep
running into Marshall, the widower, and though he doesn't really
like them -- Abel is a self-important dork and treats his wife
horribly -- they do provide company during this tough time. The
younger couple's relationship does not fare well compared to
Marshall's memories of his departed -- even the argument he
remembers from his previous visit, a particularly bad one for
them, looks strong compared to Abel and Monica's behavior:
it was the worst argument we had on the trip. But I can't
even begin to remember what it was about. Probably that's
why it was so bad. Must have been one of those disagreements
over something small that deepens and gathers fury because
it is only the mechanism to release stored up differences
between two lives. (496)
Marshall and his wife then make up and he remembers the
resolution as being his own piece of heaven on earth. The story
ends with Abel and Monica's brutal fight -- punches are thrown --
in front of all the tourists, and we're left with the impression
that these folks are ogres to stay in a relationship like that
and impolite to subject others to their squabbles. Some things,
like fights among couples, are better left to privacy.
Sex, Lies and Menopause
Kelly Cherry's novel in stories, My Life and Dr. Joyce Brothers,
deals with a young woman's desire to get married and have
children, especially since the time will soon arrive when she
won't be able to have children. Nina must battle her past -- she
has suffered in more than one way at the hands of a genius,
alcoholic brother -- and the tendency she has to involve herself
with men who treat her like dirt. The most interesting part of
this novel is the presentation of Nina's view of her problems.
She knows she has to grow beyond them, she realizes how little
her psychiatrist helps her, and through the course of the novel
we see her evolve from the victim of assault to a mother content
with her self, though it is a weird road that she travels to get
there. She is not married, she has not borne a child, but she's
wrestled her various demons and come out on top. I enjoyed Ms.
Cherry's prose style, as in her description of an irate child:
"When scolded, she will screw up her beautiful angry little face
like a washer threaded on a faucet, squeeze her eyes tight like
lemons, and refuse to cry" (194). This book is a rare effort in
that it might work either as a novel or as a collection of
stories and the pieces are different enough to give a rather
complete picture of Nina's problem and solution.
Forrest Gump, Guru
I really enjoyed Tom Hanks' performance in Forrest Gump, it
reminded me somewhat of Dustin Hoffman as the retarded Raymond in
Rain Man, but of course Hanks is not quite of Hoffman's stature.
And this is a different type of movie -- Hanks plays Gump, the
village idiot who ends up having quite an influence on the
culture of the 1960s and early 1970s. The movie has received a
lot of press for the special effects that show Gump shaking hands
with presidents (JFK, LBJ and RMN) after his various
accomplishments. There's a genre of wisdom literature that deals
with fools, maintaining that fools are touched by God and
therefore closer to wisdom than those who think themselves
clever. On the internet I found the following "definition" of a
fool:
He it was who invented letters, printing, the railroad, the
steamboat, the telegraph, the platitude and the circle of
the sciences. He created patriotism and taught the nations
war -- founded theology, philosophy, law, medicine and
Chicago. He established monarchical and republican
government. He is from everlasting to everlasting -- such as
creation's dawn beheld he fooleth now. In the morning of
time he sang upon primitive hills, and in the noonday of
existence headed the procession of being. His grandmotherly
hand was warmly tucked-in the set sun of civilization, and
in the twilight he prepares Man's evening meal of
milk-and-morality and turns down the covers of the universal
grave. And after the rest of us shall have retired for the
night of eternal oblivion he will sit up to write a history
of human civilization.
In short, we belittle fools but they get everything accomplished.
Forrest can run like the wind and do little things extremely
well, and for that reason finds success in the military. His
introduction to Ping Pong takes place in a priceless scene: one
soldier tells him, "you want to play this game, you keep your
eyes on this ball," at which point Forrest's eyes become riveted
to the ball, and the next thing we know he's on the American team
playing in China. Forrest does a little bit of everything in his
storied career. He owns his own shrimp boat (one of the most
interesting characters in the movie besides Forrest is his
military buddy Bubba who catalogs for Forrest the immense number
of uses for shrimp in cooking), owns stock in "some kind of fruit
company" (and we see the logo of Apple Computers), runs around
the US several times (collecting disciples along the way),
marries and has a child. There are times when Hanks loses the
characterization he works so hard for (the graveyard scene for
example), but this movie always delights. Forget the special
effects and joy in a relationship close to God that makes us
"smarter" folks so jealous. Maybe that's why we punish fools so.
[Secret Handshake; Nudge Nudge, Wink Wink]
Richard Sala's Hypnotic Tales is a collection of the cartoonist's
weird little stories that share bizarre twists and turns, weird
situations and spooky characters. In "The Thirteen Fingers," for
example, the reporter writing a travel piece is accosted by a
boring native who lets loose his involvement in the ultra-secret
society called "the thirteen fingers." Our intrepid hero learns
enough of the details to replace the passed out stranger at the
annual meeting, remaining undercover until he is unable to recite
the secret pledge. Discovered, he loses a week in his memory and
his life becomes a nightmare. Suspicious things happen to those
around him and he's really getting paranoid. Returning to the
secret society determined to unmask them, our hero is again asked
to recite the secret pledge:
I found that this time I knew it word for word and I recited
it without hesitation. Subsequently, I was warmly welcomed
into the group, which is now known as "the fourteen fingers"
... I don't know how I ever lived without it. (68)
And that's it, end of story. Conspiracy buffs and B movie fans
will love these tales, as will those who joy to the weird and
off-beat. There's always a secret symbol to be figured out, or a
mysterious character to fear, and in each frame is the bizarre.
Feline Hysteria
Elizabeth Marshall Thomas, author of The Hidden Life of Dogs,
writes of cats in the July issue of The Atlantic Monthly (67-71).
One of the more interesting observations is that cats do not
respond to airborne smells and rather "experience odors as pools,
not as trails the way dogs do" (69). Addressing the perception of
most of us, that cats are social only on their own terms, the
author insists that we misinterpret the cats' signals: the cats
often might not even acknowledge the fact that they are part of a
social group, but that ultimately they act with that group. She
gives the example of walking to her office: the dogs stay close,
constantly touching her along the way, while the cats remain
aloof, but "soon after the dogs and I are inside the office, the
cats materialize there, too, just as interested in being together
as the dogs are" (71). Thomas might have angered the cat lover
with her contention that the "cats depend on us and the dogs"
(71). I don't know that that's true, but then who really can tell
what those strange animals are up to? I'm reminded of an
observation I once read: dogs think their owners are Gods because
their owners feed them; cats think that they are the Gods because
their owners feed them. And that's why cats are special: they're
so damn arrogant and cocky you have to respect them.
Quote of the Week
In Kelly Cherry's My Life and Dr. Joyce Brothers, she has a
wonderful passage about keeping up with a former lover by reading
his horoscope:
I know that he has repeatedly had to stand up for himself
despite opposition from family and friends, that he has come
into money on several occasions, and that, more than once,
he has undergone a romantic renaissance, while
simultaneously a peculiar conjunction of planets in his
something-or-other house wrought subconscious changes,
allowing him to rid himself of excess psychological baggage,
move toward a long-range goal, and, in short, defy entropy.
(211-212)
The ex-lover must have been a Cancer because that's exactly what
my horoscope has been saying!
