APHASIA
(Or, Against Academic Blockheadism)
Two
bricoleurs, an alphabetologist and a metaphorologist, were presenting their radical findings on the campus of
Veritas, in a building dubbed
Ers, where professors from
Veritas often spoke from. The building looked like, and was as dark as, methionylthreonylthreonylglutaminylalanylprolylthreonylphenylalanylthreon–
ylglutaminylprolylleucylglutaminylserylvalylvalylvalylleucylglutamylglycy–
lserylthreonylalanylthreonylphenylalanylglutamylalanylhistidylisoleucylse–
rylglycylphenylalanylprolylvalylprolylglutamylvalylseryltryptophylphenyla–
lanylarginylaspartylglycylglutaminylvalylisoleucylserylthreonylserylthreo–
nylleucylprolylglycylvalylglutaminylisoleucylserylphenylalanylserylaspart–
ylglycylarginylalanyllysylleucylthreonylisoleucylprolylalanylvalylthreony–
llysylalanylasparaginylserylglycylarginyltyrosylserylleucyllysylalanylthr–
eonylasparaginylglycylserylglycylglutaminylalanylthreonylserylthreonylala–
nylglutamylleucylleucylvalyllysylalanylglutamylthreonylalanylprolylprolyl–
asparaginylphenylalanylvalylglutaminylarginylleucylglutaminylserylmethion–
ylthreonylvalylarginylglutaminylglycylserylglutaminylvalylarginylleucylgl–
utaminylvalylarginylvalylthreonylglycylisoleucylprolylasparaginylprolylva–
lylvalyllysylphenylalanyltyrosylarginylaspartylglycylalanylglutamylisoleu–
cylglutaminylserylserylleucylaspartylphenylalanylglutaminylisoleucylseryl–
glutaminylglutamylglycylaspartylleucyltyrosylserylleucylleucylisoleucylal–
anylglutamylalanyltyrosylprolylglutamylaspartylserylglycylthreonyltyrosyl–
serylvalylasparaginylalanylthreonylasparaginylserylvalylglycylarginylalan–
ylthreonylserylthreonylalanylglutamylleucylleucylvalylglutaminylglycylglu–
tamylglutamylglutamylvalylprolylalanyllysyllysylthreonyllysylthreonylisol–
eucylvalylserylthreonylalanylglutaminylisoleucylserylglutamylserylarginyl–
glutaminylthreonylarginylisoleucylglutamyllysyllysylisoleucylglutamylalan–
ylhistidylphenylalanylaspartylalanylarginylserylisoleucylalanylthreonylva–
lylglutamylmethionylvalylisoleucylaspartylglycylalanylalanylglycylglutami–
nylglutaminylleucylprolylhistidyllysylthreonylprolylprolylarginylisoleucy–
lprolylprolyllysylprolyllysylserylarginylserylprolylthreonylprolylprolyls–
erylisoleucylalanylalanyllysylalanylglutaminylleucylalanylarginylglutamin–
ylglutaminylserylprolylserylprolylisoleucylarginylhistidylserylprolylsery–
lprolylvalylarginylhistidylvalylarginylalanylprolylthreonylprolylserylpro–
lylvalylarginylserylvalylserylprolylalanylalanylarginylisoleucylserylthre–
onylserylprolylisoleucylarginylserylvalylarginylserylprolylleucylleucylme–
thionylarginyllysylthreonylglutaminylalanylserylthreonylvalylalanylthreon–
ylglycylprolylglutamylvalylprolylprolylprolyltryptophyllysylglutaminylglu–
tamylglycyltyrosylvalylalanylserylserylserylglutamylalanylglutamylmethion–
ylarginylglutamylthreonylthreonylleucylthreonylthreonylserylthreonylgluta–
minylisoleucylarginylthreonylglutamylglutamylarginyltryptophylglutamylgly–
cylarginyltyrosylglycylvalylglutaminylglutamylglutaminylvalylthreonylisol–
eucylserylglycylalanylalanylglycylalanylalanylalanylserylvalylserylalanyl–
serylalanylseryltyrosylalanylalanylglutamylalanylvalylalanylthreonylglycy–
lalanyllysylglutamylvalyllysylglutaminylaspartylalanylaspartyllysylseryla–
lanylalanylvalylalanylthreonylvalylvalylalanylalanylvalylaspartylmethiony–
lalanylarginylvalylarginylglutamylprolylvalylisoleucylserylalanylvalylglu–
tamylglutaminylthreonylalanylglutaminylarginylthreonylthreonylthreonylthr–
eonylalanylvalylhistidylisoleucylglutaminylprolylalanylglutaminylglutamyl–
glutaminylvalylarginyllysylglutamylalanylglutamyllysylthreonylalanylvalyl–
threonyllysylvalylvalylvalylalanylalanylaspartyllysylalanyllysylglutamylg–
lutaminylglutamylleucyllysylserylarginylthreonyllysylglutamylisoleucyliso–
leucylthreonylthreonyllysylglutaminylglutamylglutaminylmethionylhistidylv–
alylthreonylhistidylglutamylglutaminylisoleucylarginyllysylglutamylthreon–
ylglutamyllysylthreonylphenylalanylvalylprolyllysylvalylvalylisoleucylser–
ylalanylalanyllysylalanyllysylglutamylglutaminylglutamylthreonylarginylis–
oleucylserylglutamylglutamylisoleucylthreonyllysyllysylglutaminyllysylglu–
taminylvalylthreonylglutaminylglutamylalanylisoleucylmethionyllysylglutam–
ylthreonylarginyllysylthreonylvalylvalylprolyllysylvalylisoleucylvalylala–
nylthreonylprolyllysylvalyllysylglutamylglutaminylaspartylleucylvalylsery–
larginylglycylarginylglutamylglycylisoleucylthreonylthreonyllysylarginylg–
lutamylglutaminylvalylglutaminylisoleucylthreonylglutaminylglutamyllysylm–
ethionylarginyllysylglutamylalanylglutamyllysylthreonylalanylleucylserylt–
hreonylisoleucylalanylvalylalanylthreonylalanyllysylalanyllysylglutamylgl–
utaminylglutamylthreonylisoleucylleucylarginylthreonylarginylglutamylthre–
onylmethionylalanylthreonylarginylglutaminylglutamylglutaminylisoleucylgl–
utaminylvalylthreonylhistidylglycyllysylvalylaspartylvalylglycyllysyllysy–
lalanylglutamylalanylvalylalanylthreonylvalylvalylalanylalanylvalylaspart–
ylglutaminylalanylarginylvalylarginylglutamylprolylarginylglutamylprolylg–
lycylhistidylleucylglutamylglutamylseryltyrosylalanylglutaminylglutaminyl–
threonylthreonylleucylglutamyltyrosylglycyltyrosyllysylglutamylarginyliso–
leucylserylalanylalanyllysylvalylalanylglutamylprolylprolylglutaminylargi–
nylprolylalanylserylglutamylprolylhistidylvalylvalylprolyllysylalanylvaly–
llysylprolylarginylvalylisoleucylglutaminylalanylprolylserylglutamylthreo–
nylhistidylisoleucyllysylthreonylthreonylaspartylglutaminyllysylglycylmet–
hionylhistidylisoleucylserylserylglutaminylisoleucyllysyllysylthreonylthr–
eonylaspartylleucylthreonylthreonylglutamylarginylleucylvalylhistidylvaly–
laspartyllysylarginylprolylarginylthreonylalanylserylprolylhistidylphenyl–
alanylthreonylvalylseryllysylisoleucylserylvalylprolyllysylthreonylglutam–
ylhistidylglycyltyrosylglutamylalanylserylisoleucylalanylglycylserylalany–
lisoleucylalanylthreonylleucylglutaminyllysylglutamylleucylserylalanylthr–
eonylserylserylalanylglutaminyllysylisoleucylthreonyllysylserylvalyllysyl–
alanylprolylthreonylvalyllysylprolylserylglutamylthreonylarginylvalylargi–
nylalanylglutamylprolylthreonylprolylleucylprolylglutaminylphenylalanylpr–
olylphenylalanylalanylaspartylthreonylprolylaspartylthreonyltyrosyllysyls–
erylglutamylalanylglycylvalylglutamylvalyllysyllysylglutamylvalylglycylva–
lylserylisoleucylthreonylglycylthreonylthreonylvalylarginylglutamylglutam–
ylarginylphenylalanylglutamylvalylleucylhistidylglycylarginylglutamylalan–
yllysylvalylthreonylglutamylthreonylalanylarginylvalylprolylalanylprolylv–
alylglutamylisoleucylprolylvalylthreonylprolylprolylthreonylleucylvalylse–
rylglycylleucyllysylasparaginylvalylthreonylvalylisoleucylglutamylglycylg–
lutamylserylvalylthreonylleucylglutamylcysteinylhistidylisoleucylserylgly–
cyltyrosylprolylserylprolylthreonylvalylthreonyltryptophyltyrosylarginylg–
lutamylaspartyltyrosylglutaminylisoleucylglutamylserylserylisoleucylaspar–
tylphenylalanylglutaminylisoleucylthreonylphenylalanylglutaminylserylglyc–
ylisoleucylalanylarginylleucylmethionylisoleucylarginylglutamylalanylphen–
ylalanylalanylglutamylaspartylserylglycylarginylphenylalanylthreonylcyste–… inylserylisoleucine giant, vacuous, cave [antre]…
I will speak, therefore, of a “n
ame.”
We must tympanize the—“n
ame.”
Even before coming to this unnamed name, this unscripted and unnamed text, we must be aware of all that slips by unnoticed, unknown—unknownticed—when this name, or any name, is, namely, named. All the unknownticed unthings which are unsaid and unscripted or nonscripted must come-to-be. But the unthings will not (be)come, or come to be, without violence or without a fight. So let us
fight back.
Cry havoc! And let loose the hounds of war!
We are cognizant that we can never truly speak this “name” or write this “name”—anytime we attempt such a feat the name will evade us, it will flee with fleeting feet away from us, will find a way away from our way. Perhaps though, we can deconstruct the name some other way. And rather, there will be no definition of a non-name or nonconcept, but there will be a de-finition, a de-fining, so that we can fīn(d) what is fine in the finite, so that the fine finite may become defined, infinite.
This deconstruction then, is unfounded. It is unfounded on a profoundly anti-foundational and as yet unsaid
lack—that is to say “here”—for why “here” and not
there or even
over there as has often been preferred—we do not hear, certainly do not see, and cannot yet begin to locate a locale which must be low, unknownticed, understood. So much for our standing of understanding standing.
Let us begin again.
Once more into the breach dear friends!
What after all, is a title? Is the title even entitled to itself, to its title? What claim does it have? To title is also to name, to write and inscribe. One holds titles and does not hold titles—one writes titles; we inscribe titles, and yet titles also ascribe themselves to us. Yet some things are untitled, unnamed; are denominated and denominated—they have a denomination.
Again, what does a title, which is simply a set of signs, signify? What do the signs assign and what do the signs a-sign, or asign? What is ascribed in the de-scription, or what is described, of a denomination? Who titles, names, claims, nominates? We will attempt to answer these questions (which we will later see is actually an act of questioning) but not at present, not before we go on a brief detour.
A question is now before us, present, presenting itself from outside itself. To ask a question of course is to ask for an answer, to go on a quest, to follow a course, regardless of course and of course, how coarse the course may turn out to be. The question is now before us; it at once precedes us and comes after us, it is behind us and in front of us. The question (answer) follows us, and we follow the question (answer). What follows then, will not have been a course but a discourse. And in the discourse of questing for a question do not we always find questionable answers and need to ask answers, questions, and then answer questions or answer-questions?
To be or not to be, that is the question
And the answer? Of course? What course? How coarse?
“?”
This question marks a boundary [
margo] but when has a question mark ever served as a limit? This mark questions
itself, believes that its question mark is questionable, marks the mark as questionable, which is to say, an answer. For do not questions mark bounds of departure—of
departure? Is not a question mark a gate to the boundless, limitless? Out of bounds, we bound over boundaries into the definite boundless-out-of-bounds.
But where does the question occur, or take place? Where is its proper [
propre] place, is it even allowed to take place? The question, when asked, occurs only when it does not occur, has a place only when it does not have a place, has a proper only when it does not have a proper. The space outside the place, the nonplace, is proper (improper) for the question (answer) in place. Its outside is its inside, or if we were to entitle a question (answer) it would reread like so:
The Outside Is the Inside.
We can now make the nonattempt to denominate “Shakespeare.”
Let us speak clearly: What we will ask, that is to say, what will be answered, which by answer I mean, of course, to ask, and again (for here it is important to repeat, restate, even, one wishes, remark) what is to be asked, what is said to be asked (or if you like, answered), is no-thing other than, than the than itself (as opposed to the then, or the other-then being that which is the than) and in asking (answering) that other-than-ness, that being-other-than, we hope (but let us not hope in the Heideggerio-nonHegelo-Artaudinal sense) by chance (for chance in this or that sense—as we said previously—is in this (that) instance important) to (from), (i)(e)ncounter that which is normally not present, which is to say that which is normally absent or absenting itself, so to speak, or, let us rather say (even not say), especially not in ontological or epistemological terms, but, if I may here permit myself to speak in terms of a certain delimiting style, or, as is often preferred now, and is often enough de rigueur, in a deconstructive style, by which I mean in terms of a grammatology [
De la grammatologie], (because it seems to announce itself, even present itself
itself and at once absent itself,
itself), in which (and even if it
turns out it is actually
not an in which but an in which that is not, or, more explicitly,
not-that-which), then (than), or, besides, as we shall see (it may be possible to be or possibly be be-side that which is not, and therefore, we could be beside ourselves, which, in any event may
turn out to be outside ourselves—even if it might banish us back inside, to insistence), actually, to be sure (and a certain acting is required, absent any present), what, in any event is assure—(by such an assertion I do mean to insert a-sure)—dly (delay) going to
not be, or being-not, an incertain insert into the assured (which is certainly insured and even less is it insured), but, then again (but we cannot say that this, or that, might be a gain), and what we might wish to say, or speaking in the playful voice of a dancing, singing, Dionysus, it may be necessary to make a genealogy of sorts to sort out certain asymmetries of nonsystems (as they reach a horizon in which the horizonality of a horizonology arises from an always already being-horizon or being-horizonness that
itself risks the horizonality of the horizon as such) and place them in the play or movement of
différ—
So Let us be wary, suspicious, and let us take no-thing for granted. So much is
hidden in the Bard’s name, but at the same time that it hides, it yearns to be discovered, dis-covered, that is to say, uncovered or disclosed. So let us remove this covering, this thing over something, this thing hovering so that no-thing may come about. We should be suspicious, first ov all, ov the very letters that comprise his name, namely, the very first letter of these very letters. This letter is “S.” The letter “S” is snake-like, it slithers, it crawls on its stomach through the tall grass of Western metaphysics. What is discovered here is of crucialistic importancy: “S”hakespeare is a snake in the grass, he is the serpent of phallogentricism, always already doing the dirty deed of the phallus as such. We must be on our guard now for everywhere around us is tall grass and William and his “willy” are sneaking about, (always) (al)ready to ssssstrike ussssss. But maybe the sssnake is more afraid of ussss than we are of it, as is often times the case. This brings us to another (an other) clearing [
Lichtung], we are clearing the grass away. What if “S”hakespeare is afraid of us? Here we must consider not only the first letter, but first
word—what does uncovering it show or reveal, but not re-veil? William
shakes. To shake is to be afraid, to shake is to tremble, tremble with
fear. But what is he shaking
at? Why the trembling and quivering? “S”hakespeare is shaking because he is afraid of what might be discovered, or disclosed. He shakes at being shaken or undone [
sollicitation]. He realizes that he might be exposed. Or, does he
expose himself? We go deeper into the bush, into the thick, tall grass of the western metaphysical tradition.
By the pricking of my thumbs
Something wicked this way comes
Through this new clearing, for that is what we have been doing all along as we press along, going further and further through the bush, some-thing
else is
present. Even now, let us be on our guard, as we must consider another piece of this proper name: Speare. The (ap)(s)peare has (ap)(s)peared. The speare as such is now in our face. Are we surprised? This trembling phallus, this doodling cock, this no-name “♂” exposes itself, defines itself,
itself. The text solicits itself to us, this phallagocentric text dangles in front of us, even lightly slaps our face and lips. Let us peer into the spear(e) that has appeared before its peers, even before appearing to itself, before itself.
At this moment in our rereading of this no-name’s nontext we can see a betrayal: what the text has yearned to be master of, has sought to dominate, oppress, and repress, press against itself in a desperate and futile attempt is the binary opposition in which the text and only the text (for nothing is outside the text) exercises, but does not exercise, a prejudice of smart to dumb, learned to ignorant. It is this opposition that must be reversed (the necessary yet insufficient reversal), the hierarchy must be toppled, upset, and
stupidité must be given preference; it is vital for State interest.
We have shaken the Shakespearian text; it is no longer its own, no longer owns, it disobeys its own logic, lacks ownness. A heiarchy has been displaced, dislocated, unhinged, delimited, etc. The apostrophe has fallen. The decapitation [
la décollation] of shakespeare. It is no longer Shakespeare’s but shakespeare,s. The head has fallen and the text or nontext (as it is not in this context) is now free to play:
Now is the winter of our discontent
It is no longer a text of Shakespeare, but a text from shakespeare; it is shakespeare,s. It is the not is. It is the is not. What is that? It is truth and also nontruth, untruthful truthfulness truthfully full of nontruth that is empty yet full; a thing empty of no-thing which is simply to say that a no-thing or nonthing is full. What is the meaning then? More importantly, what is the nonmeaning? The answer, which is also the question, is that the meaning nonmeaning of truthful untruth or the movement of things presently presenting themselves, beings becoming, coming to be by being let be (or as Heidegger says, letting beings be) is questionable, as any answer must
be.
Let us begin again—a title now entitles itself:
A Mid Summer Night’s Dream. To dream is to want and wish for a fantasy, which is a nonthing in that it is nonreal, but is also a thing in that it is real. The dream is neither true nor false, and we are neither awake nor asleep. A mist surrounds the dream which occurs amidst Summer, which itself is amid and amidst, between [
entre] the Spring and the Fall, the beginning and the end. But because it is between these ends, it is also outside these ends; it is the uncertain insert, extracted and also replaced and inserted in(
entre)between in the instant the text becomes insistent in this instance. Here we march along the margins of philosophy [
Marges de la philosophie]. Dreams can be at any time, can even be timeless, or can be on time and being [
Zur Sache des Denkens]; regardless of time and being, being and time [
Sein und Zeit] are proper to an analysis or interpretation of dreams. What calls for thinking, or what is called thinking [
Was heisst Denken], at present is the dissemination [
La dissémination] of meaning (though not simply to be thought of as polysemy) on the way to language [
Unterwegs zur Sprache] in which both writing and difference [
L’écriture et la différence] and identity and difference [
Identität und Differenz] can be explored. One would have to sketch, if one dreamed, not on the genealogy of morals [
Zur Genealogie der Moral] but oneirically on one of dreams, or a dreamology; but such a task will not be attempted presently…
The other two professors, seated in the dark cave [
antre], cognizant of the abundant use of wit, big words, and foreign language, nodded their heads in consent—there was obviously a great debate occurring and giant leaps of intellectual progress being made, even if none of them could understand it.
The two nodding shadows in the audience could not stop expressing their consent—their heads began to nod with increasing speed. Both professor T and H were nodding as fast as the two shades. The nodding became violent. The two members of the audience banged their heads on the armrests of the auditorium seats in unison. Still seated they leaned left, then right, crashing their heads into the arm rests until long, thin streaks of crimson rolled out of their ears and slid down the sides of their necks, splitting off like twigs from a tree branch. T began slamming his head into the podium: his blenched fingers grasped the sides of the wooden podium as he bent his knees and arched back so that he was staring at the ceiling. He paused for a moment, just long enough for his eyes to bulge with uncertainty, and then hurled his head against the wood podium. T’s lips puckered in pain as he planted his face against the wood, simultaneously producing a dull thud and a crisp crack of his nose-bone. Just as quickly as the pain registered, he was already arched back staring at the ceiling. A second time his head sped towards the illuminated podium, and as he lurched back to his starting stance a bloody arc of red spray and fissured yellow-gray teeth grew from the podium to his mouth. While T was slamming himself senseless—and making every blow count—H, not to be outdone, was pursuing the same objective but with a different approach. H was slamming his head into the pedestal with all the fervor of a woodpecker. H’s first hit threw the glass from their frames, whereupon the lenses were pounded to shards, which buried themselves in his forehead and eyes from his head-banging.
The lateral lashings of the audience where halted when T threw his face against the podium with such force that he summer-salted out into the audience, head-butting the two men just as they reached the peak of the ascension. The acrobatic head-butt disrupted the rhythm of the two men so that they began to slam into each other, temple to temple. Thickheaded though they were, this lasted only for a moment as the two succumbed to the accumulated blows and sank forward, faces landing with mouths gaping open and drooling in T’s crotch, who lay draped over the seat like a coat: head, back, and arms all stuffed in the seat and legs dangling down the back with crotch thrust in the air.
H’s fervor finally failed him; his battered face came to a rest at the center of the podium so that he was bent at a perfect ninety-degree angle with his arms hanging limply by his sides. The professor groaned into a puddle of wet snot, spittle, blood, and glass and began to slide backwards as he sank into unconsciousness. H’s rear led the fall, hitting the stage with such force that he bounced and sat upright for a moment before the momentum flung his arms out to either side and slammed his back against the hardwood flooring of the stage.
*
“…ok you’re on.”
Welcome to this special Flocks News report. I’m standing here outside the downtown hospital where thousands upon thousands of people are pouring in with severe trauma to the head. It’s a gruesome scene all around here, but its worse inside, its like a scene ripped from a horror movie: blood, gore, and dead bodies all over the hospital. We are told hospitals around the country are reporting the same phenomenon—
“So how did all these people die in the hospital, try to help us understand what’s going on down there.”
Some patients in their beds started to slam their heads and people started flooding the hospital while banging their heads all over the place is what the doctors and nurses are telling us. Then once they got to the hospital, the ones that actually made it that far, they died here to head wounds. Everyone who came here is now dead, the doctors and nurses and every able bodied person are trying to figure out a way to carry all the corpses out while more people keep flooding in, banging their heads all the way. No one has ever seen anything like this; all the doctors and nurses we have spoken with, and we’ve only been able to speak with them briefly because their resources are stretched as much as possible trying to deal with this, well, this epidemic…
“Wait so some people haven’t even made it to the hospital? Where are they?”
If you go outside right now, there are bodies all over the street. The roads were almost entirely impassable, and at some places we had to stop the van, get out, and pile bodies up on the sidewalk, bodies were literally littering the sidewalk. It looked like people had thrown themselves out windows, lost control of their vehicles…people’s heads had been banged off entirely, it’s…it’s…just impossible to describe, its just a bloody mess, a bloodbath. Total chaos.
“What are the doctors saying about all this?”
Well like I said earlier, we have only been able to talk with them very briefly and they don’t have much information at all.
The one man we were able to talk with for just a few minutes said that at that moment—and I’m not sure what they are thinking right now—but at the moment we talked to him, he said the initial outbreak appeared to have come from the campus of
Veritas where two professors were giving a televised lecture.
A—
“So—”
I’m sorry what? I’ve never seen anything like this, nothing reaches this level of bloodshed. I…I’m truly frightened.
“No go ahead; I was just going to ask what, if anything, are they calling this epidemic? Is it some form of the flu or the plague or do they really have any idea at this time?”
Right, he told us that they were calling it the Hebetudinous Head-banging. They are not sure how it travels, but it seems to be by air. One last thing, on our trip down here, we saw a man who seemed to be unaffected or immune to all of what was going on, we didn’t get a good a look at him, but he seemed frightening, like he was straight from a nightmare or something.
“Hebetudinous Head-banging, Is that a medical term?”
It is now.
“Where did they get the name?”
The one man we talked to simply said that is just what he had heard it being called.
“Ok and we will try to keep you updated on the Hebetudinous Head-banging as we get details and as things progress. Keep safe everyone, and watch your head!”
*
is because of the cover: it is the sole reason why I bought this book. The cover is imbued with oneiric, effulgent colors of the looming towers, the looming towers themselves, and is complete with a dusk-dreaming thief. There is a deftly done double entendre at the formal level of the book's cover that is worth pausing to take note of: at one level, the cover is simply a dashing rogue looking out onto a fantastic, fabulous, city, but on a more cleverly inferred level, it looks like this charming yet unsavory day-dreaming theif is also quite full of ambition, and is dreaming about his own castles in the sky, which we are witness to. Also, the midnight blue at the top of the book along with the crepuscular saffrons and golds mix lazily together, which echoes the overarching theme of the book's cover. All in all, this is a really great send off, as it puts one in a mirthful mood at the opening of the reading experience.
, but from the start of this book I knew I was stepping onto unfamiliar ground. This text is not a "quick" read: one should not consume Lynch like a soda, but more like a relaxing coffee at midnight
. Lynch takes a great deal of time to construct his world and his characters, delving deeply into their past, dwelling at length on the customs of the lands, its theological system, sporting and holiday events, and notable foods and wines. Lynch is particularly adept at describing meals (he shares this ability with Keats), and the reader is in for a feast whenever his characters stop their schemes and sit down for a meal. Lynch has created a thick world in which the reader can ably move about in (though one should always have one's wits about in a pit of thieves!), but for some readers, the detail will undoubtedly be too much, and too dizzying or very encumbering. I will quote, in extensio, a description of the description of the tavern, the Last Mistake, where Lynch gives a virtuoso performance of descriptive scene setting:
): there is a nemesis, the "Gray King," and the nemesis's wicked "Bondsmage" named the "Falconer" who has a "scorpion hawk." Other transgressions against the art of naming are ones like "devilfish," "wolfshark," (yes that is really a name), "Father Chains," and a host of forgettable Italian names.
