I finally got around to reading David Lodge's Changing Places today. I'd been meaning to for some time, and after finding a cheap copy in the used bookstore near me the other day, I could see no reason to put it off any longer. Part of the impetus behind my desire to read the novel came from the fact that it is, by far, the book I'm asked most often if I've read. This mainly has to do with my answer to the dreaded questions "What are you interested in?/What do you study?/What is your research area?" I never quite know how to answer those kinds of questions, so I usually mention that I'm interested in novels about the academy. The next question, almost without fail, is "Have you read Changing Places?"* Now I can say I have.
The novel was as funny and charming as people assured me it would be, and I enjoyed reading it. One particular passage early on in the novel detailing the scholarship (or lack thereof) of Philip Swallow describes a problem I often run into (though nowhere near to the extent of Swallow):
"Philip Swallow was a man with a genuine love of literature in all its diverse forms. He was as happy with Beowulf as Virginia Woolf,** with Waiting for Godot as with Gammer Gurton's Needle, and in odd moments when nobler examples of the written word were not to hand he read attentively the backs of cornflakes packets, the small print on railway tickets and the advertising matter in books of stamps. This undiscriminating enthusiasm, however, prevented him from settling on a 'field' to cultivate as his own. . . . Seldom, indeed, had he drawn up a preliminary bibliography [for a project] before his attention was distracted by some new or revived interest in something entirely different. He ran hither and thither between the shelves of Eng. Lit. like a child in a toyshop - so reluctant to choose one item to the exclusion of others that he ended up empty-handed" (17).
I think we're to laugh at (along with?) Swallow here, but this seems to me like more of a description of a lively and active mind. As a professor once told me at a department party, "it's nice to be able to talk to people about something other than your own research." I have more or less settled on a field--or at least a time period--but I do genuinely love literature (along with various other cultural texts) and can get distracted rather easily by the next shiny thing that flies past my face. There are too many interesting things and not enough time to read them all, let alone talk about write about them.
Besides, it can be kind of fun to just let one's intellectual wheels spin and explore whatever appears. Rigour, discipline, and focus are important, too, but literary analysis is fun (or at least it is for me). I think anytime one analyzes something it can be useful and beneficial (if only to keep one's "mental muscles" in shape), even if just to serve as a reminder of how fun and pleasurable this can all be. That's what makes a book like Barthes' Mythologies so readable: his pleasure and amusement with his own work is there, transparent on the page. Now, this sense of fun, of pleasure, of (the word cannot be avoided) play, can be infuriating (as Derrida makes all too clear far too often, in my opinion) if it lapses into smugness and self-satisfaction--or if it ends up fostering or encouraging a kind of solipsism--but, by and large, I think it's a good thing. Cultural texts and literary analysis are tremendously powerful and serious things, but they are also bright, shiny toys in a toystore. I think I spend more than enough time working from the former position and not nearly enough working from the latter. I'm going to try, though, in the next year to recapture my sense of play. We'll see how this goes.
*Sometimes they can't remember the title of the book and can only vaguely describe the plot (and I can then guess the book because of other, similarly vague descriptions of the novel's plot), but they're almost always asking me about Changing Places. Occasionally, they'll ask about Richard Russo's Straight Man or Philip Roth's The Human Stain (both of which I've yet to read), but 90% of the time, they want to know if I've read Lodge.
**If these are my two options, I'll take the back of the Cornflakes box, thanks.
Monday, May 30, 2011
Sunday, May 29, 2011
REVIEW: BRIAN ALDISS, THE LONG AFTERNOON OF EARTH
No, I'm not planning on turning my blog into a series of book reviews, but I'm finding it difficult to simply enjoy the books I'm reading without saying anything about them. I guess grad school has finally won.
I finished Brian Aldiss' The Long Afternoon of Earth (1962) this afternoon (one that I would describe as long). It didn't reach the heights of A Case of Conscience, and overall I found it disappointing. But first, the good: it has an awesome title and the novel's setting (an Earth that has become a murderous jungle, much like standard SF depictions of Venus before people found out what it was really like there) is fantastic. The ecology of that setting is worked out in such detail and complexity that it rivals (though it doesn't quite surpass) Herbert's Dune. Seriously, Aldiss does a great job of painting the world his characters inhabit. You can practically see vines and branches start to emerge from the pages of the novel.* The section of the novel that takes place in Nomansland is both terrifying and exhilarating, mainly because of the sheer variety and inventiveness of the plants that Aldiss comes up with. Of particular interest is the character of morel, an intelligent fungus with plans for world domination. The speculative or fantastic elements are entirely biological, which is a welcome respite from hard, glittering worlds of computers, spaceships, and cities. The emphasis on living things, on the ways life adapts to changing environments makes the whole novel throb and hum. There's a kind of sexiness to its focus on the violent struggle of life (a sexiness that, unfortunately, is entirely lacking in the novel's sex scenes) that is a rarity in SF. The old masters--Asimov, Clarke, Heinlein--are many things, but they aren't sexy. There is some nice and surprisingly subtle social commentary and philosophical speculation on the question of slavery and what it means to be human, as well.
Unfortunately, there are a lot of problems that (for me, at least) sink what is otherwise an engaging novel. It reads like a stitch up (the practice of turning independent short stories into a novel) even if it isn't one. The novel was originally serialized in five parts, but only three parts are labelled in the novel itself. The break between the second and third parts is particularly arbitrary (it would make more sense at least one chapter later than when it occurs). Similarly, the first part of the novel spends most of its time laying out details and putting in a motion a plot that--while it is finally resolved in the closing pages of the novel--acts for over two-thirds of the novel as an an annoying question mark because of its apparent disconnect from the main thrust of the story.
Indeed, not one, not two, but three (arguably four) sets of characters are introduced, only two sets of which belong to narratives that are resolved. The vast majority of the characters seem to exist only to be killed off in elaborate set pieces that show off the danger and mystery of the world Aldiss has created. The characters the reader spends the most time with are not very compelling (the “hero” of the novel, Gren, is particularly unpleasant), and the minor characters are irritating to the point of distraction. The fate of the second set of characters--they literally walk out of view--is never resolved, or even mentioned by any other characters, though Gren is initially part of this second cast. The novel's treatment of its female character manages to be both atypical (they are not the descendants of dime novel stereotypes and film noir femme fatales that inhabit so much SF) and wildly misogynistic at the same time. Much of the energy and momentum the first half of the novel gains from its unique setting is squandered by too much time spent simply following the characters from one setting to the next in the second half (each less unique and interesting than the one before it). The ending reneges on many of the promises set up earlier in the novel in favour of a fairly conventional closing that seems to negate the character development Aldiss takes care to repeatedly emphasize leading up to the final chapters.
Indeed, not one, not two, but three (arguably four) sets of characters are introduced, only two sets of which belong to narratives that are resolved. The vast majority of the characters seem to exist only to be killed off in elaborate set pieces that show off the danger and mystery of the world Aldiss has created. The characters the reader spends the most time with are not very compelling (the “hero” of the novel, Gren, is particularly unpleasant), and the minor characters are irritating to the point of distraction. The fate of the second set of characters--they literally walk out of view--is never resolved, or even mentioned by any other characters, though Gren is initially part of this second cast. The novel's treatment of its female character manages to be both atypical (they are not the descendants of dime novel stereotypes and film noir femme fatales that inhabit so much SF) and wildly misogynistic at the same time. Much of the energy and momentum the first half of the novel gains from its unique setting is squandered by too much time spent simply following the characters from one setting to the next in the second half (each less unique and interesting than the one before it). The ending reneges on many of the promises set up earlier in the novel in favour of a fairly conventional closing that seems to negate the character development Aldiss takes care to repeatedly emphasize leading up to the final chapters.
All in all, I have to say that I was disappointed with The Long Afternoon of Earth. It can be suitably imaginative (the first half is a minor masterpiece), but too many balls are left in the air for too long and too many questions go either unanswered or are lamely explained away for it to sustain the energy of that first half. The Long Afternoon of Earth reminds me in many ways of William Tenn's masterful Of Men and Monsters, but it lacks the black humour of that novel to pick up the slack when the action wanes, and Aldiss' Gren is less interesting than Tenn's Eric. If pressed, I would probably recommend Tenn's book over Aldiss', though it is a joy to experience the care and craft Aldiss puts into imagining his jungle earth.
*This made for an uncomfortably tense experience this afternoon as I ran along a trail in a nearby park. After several hours with Aldiss' forest, I never expected to make it back to my apartment alive.
*This made for an uncomfortably tense experience this afternoon as I ran along a trail in a nearby park. After several hours with Aldiss' forest, I never expected to make it back to my apartment alive.
Saturday, May 28, 2011
REVIEW: JAMES BLISH, A CASE OF CONSCIENCE
I just finished James Blish's A Case of Conscience (1958), which I picked up in a used bookstore today based on its reputation as a classic piece of SF. After reading it, I can definitely see why the novel has achieved its status: it's a well-written piece of SF that's more concerned with moral and philosophical problems--the case of conscience of its title--than with gadgets and technology (though those get their play as well). The second half of the novel, set on an Earth that exists almost entirely underground in “shelters,” is reminiscent of Asimov's The Caves of Steel (though more pessimistic) and the overall tone and feel (along with the personality of the main character, Father Ruiz-Sanchez, SJ) recalls (or, more accurately in terms of chronology, points to) Silverberg's novels of the 1960s and 1970s, particularly Tower of Glass and The Masks of Time.
While Ruiz-Sanchez and the other major characters--the scientists Liu Meid and Michelis and the alien Egtverchi--are not quite as memorable as Lije Bailey and R. Daneel Olivaw, they are fairly compelling. If at times Blish uses them more as mouthpieces for philosophical and ethical positions than as actual human beings, it is justified given the fascinating nature of what they discuss: the nature of matter, the question of evil, and the existence of God and the Devil. Ruiz-Sanchez in particular is a masterful portrait of grief and doubt, a man confronted by a startling revelation that both undermines and confirms his deepest belief.
There are some flaws with the novel--certain plot threads are not satisfactorily resolved, and several major developments are simply a little too convenient (there is no adequate explanation for the destruction of the Message Tree, for example, other than to quell obvious objections to the novel's resolution: “Why didn't they just call them?”)--but they generally do not detract from the experience of reading the novel. Indeed, given that the novel was first published over fifty years ago, it has aged surprisingly well. Certainly it is less cringe-worthy than some of Heinlein's efforts from the same period. It is a great example of SF that is more sociological than technological, and really pushes the limits of what the genre can do without resorting to the (occasionally gimmicky) shock tactics of some of the New Wave SF writers of the 1960s and 1970s.
One interesting point: I was surprised to find a preface from the author defending himself against criticism for suggesting that in the almost century difference between the publication of the novel and its setting (2050) there would be certain changes in Catholic doctrine. Just last week I would have dismissed such a preface as unnecessary and distracting, but after hearing the theology students in the German class I am taking go at it over (what seem to me at any rate) mundane and rather obvious problems (such as whether or not it is acceptable to use gluten-free communion wafers), I can see why Blish felt the need to make clear his reasoning behind the proposed doctrinal changes.
Anyway, I recommend A Case of Conscience to any SF fan (and to all readers, really). Any SF novel that can make its central plot concern the consequences of an heretical opinion (Manichӕanism) by a Jesuit priest regarding whether or not to open a planet for settlement by humans is worth a look. The political and social commentary the novel makes and its treatment of the problem of evil are also fascinating (indeed, I would like to say more about this when I've had time to digest the novel). This novel proved to be well worth the one dollar it cost me (ah, cheap old SF paperbacks. Is there anything better?).
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
FEAR AND LOATHING IN MY APARTMENT: HOW I SPENT MY WEEKEND
I had something of a minor existential crisis over the weekend. While this is not that rare of an occurrence, I'm usually pretty good at getting over any such crises and moving on to more productive things (usually this means the reading or grading I've been busy putting off). This one was more persistent than my standard-issue existential crisis, though, and what is worse, it was just silly. It ruined what was otherwise a nice weeked: sun to enjoy, movies to watch, and books to read.* Unfortunately, I spent more hours than I'd like to admit to feeling sorry for myself in ways that I thought I'd left behind with my teenage years (in all honesty, I'm pretty sure even my teenaged self would have made fun of my moping and pouting).
Some background to the crisis: I had been feeling a little bit of concern/anxiety (though not a great amount, because it required me to think about the future beyond immediate tasks at hand, which I generally refuse to do) about the fact that the end of my first year of PhD coursework was rapidly approaching and I had yet to produce any piece of writing that anyone had deemed worth working on further and trying to publish. Why was this, I wondered. Did I not have any good ideas? Was my writing not good enough? Was I somehow missing a really important point about the things I write about? I couldn't answer any of these questions. I also didn't feel comfortable talking about them. They come across (at least to me) as so ridiculously self-absorbed and whiny that the idea of discussing them with anyone causes me (even now, in the comfort and privacy of my bedroom) to blush and shake my head.
While browsing through some journals, I came across a call for papers that seemed to fit a paper I was writing for class. Thinking that this might be the best chance I ever get to dip my toe into the bizarre and confidence-destroying world of academic publications, I resolved to revise said paper and send it off for consideration. At about the same time, I received word through the grapevine (read: the social networking websites of which I am a member) of a friend of a friend of a friend who was enjoying quite the streak of academic success lately. I generally am not a jealous and competitive person,** but this streak struck a nerve. I don't know the person in question very well (we've never gone to school together and my experience is limited to mainly social encounters). I've never been impressed by descriptions of the work this person does, though.*** Coupled with the already present anxieties described above, this news caused me to feel just a bit frantic. Now I definitely needed to get something sent out.
I was still convinced that the paper I was in the process of writing was my best bet in terms of producing something that could eventually be sent out. Once I'd turned it in, I waited for the paper to reappear in my mailbox so I could get to work on revising it. The paper never appeared, though, and--as any feedback I can get at this point will be helpful--I sent an e-mail to the professor asking for my paper. I also mentioned that I was hoping to use any comments I received on the paper to revise towards submission for publication. When the response came the next day, I managed to misread the professor's comment ("I made some recommendations about that on the paper for you," essentially) as a pretty firm dismissal of the idea of my pursuing publication of any form of this paper.
Needless to say, I was crushed (this was on Friday afternoon). My anxieties suddenly loomed large. I began to wonder what I was doing in a PhD program if I couldn't produce work that anyone thought was worth publishing. I was angry and disappointed with myself: I knew the paper was good (I'd received an "A" in the class), so the only possible scenario seemed to be that I'd produced yet another paper that was good coming from a student but wasn't the kind of work an actual scholar produced. I wondered if I'd ever be able to be anything other than a good student. I spent Friday night, Saturday, and most of Sunday consumed with disappointment, frustration, and self-loathing. I sulked and pouted. It was all melodramatic to the extreme. I've pined for girls in less embarrassing ways.
I knew my paper was going to be dropped off in my mailbox at some point today, so I came to campus early (I didn't have class until 5, but I got to the office at around 11) in the hopes of catching the professor and explaining why I thought the paper was worth working on further and sending out for consideration. I did not manage to do this: despite sitting in the office all day, the paper appeared when I wasn't looking and without the professor ever materializing. Once I had the paper, I looked at the comments. I will quote the second sentence of the comments, as I think it most accurately explains both how terribly I misread the e-mail I received from the professor and what a waste of time my existential crisis was:
"I highly recommend you submit some iteration of this work for publication."
Whoops. I guess I called that one wrong. I went back to reread the e-mail I'd received on Friday. What had seemed like a dismissal now was revealed to be a simple note about the content of the comments: the professor wanted me to know I was not alone in thinking this paper had merit and should be pursued further.
Anyway, I feel slightly ridiculous now about wasting my weekend over all this. Life as a graduate student is already full of crushing blows to one's self-confidence without manufacturing further crises. I still feel incredibly anxious re: the whole publication issue when I let myself think about it (which I try to avoid doing as much as possible), but at least now I know I can produce stuff that I could conceivably send out.
*I finally finished The King in the Tree by Steven Milhauser this weekend. All three novellas in that book are excellent. More on this later.
**At least with my friends and academic work. I like helping my friends, and I enjoy celebrating with them when they reap the rewards their hard work deserves. I am, however, extremely competitive in other areas, especially the board game Risk. While playing Risk, I once managed to cause a former girlfriend to say she hated me (on my birthday, no less) because of my cutthroat approach to the game.
***I should probably come out and admit that I have a less than charitable view of this person's scholarly abilities based on the conversations we've had. Yes, I am a bad person. I am trying to rectify this.
Some background to the crisis: I had been feeling a little bit of concern/anxiety (though not a great amount, because it required me to think about the future beyond immediate tasks at hand, which I generally refuse to do) about the fact that the end of my first year of PhD coursework was rapidly approaching and I had yet to produce any piece of writing that anyone had deemed worth working on further and trying to publish. Why was this, I wondered. Did I not have any good ideas? Was my writing not good enough? Was I somehow missing a really important point about the things I write about? I couldn't answer any of these questions. I also didn't feel comfortable talking about them. They come across (at least to me) as so ridiculously self-absorbed and whiny that the idea of discussing them with anyone causes me (even now, in the comfort and privacy of my bedroom) to blush and shake my head.
While browsing through some journals, I came across a call for papers that seemed to fit a paper I was writing for class. Thinking that this might be the best chance I ever get to dip my toe into the bizarre and confidence-destroying world of academic publications, I resolved to revise said paper and send it off for consideration. At about the same time, I received word through the grapevine (read: the social networking websites of which I am a member) of a friend of a friend of a friend who was enjoying quite the streak of academic success lately. I generally am not a jealous and competitive person,** but this streak struck a nerve. I don't know the person in question very well (we've never gone to school together and my experience is limited to mainly social encounters). I've never been impressed by descriptions of the work this person does, though.*** Coupled with the already present anxieties described above, this news caused me to feel just a bit frantic. Now I definitely needed to get something sent out.
I was still convinced that the paper I was in the process of writing was my best bet in terms of producing something that could eventually be sent out. Once I'd turned it in, I waited for the paper to reappear in my mailbox so I could get to work on revising it. The paper never appeared, though, and--as any feedback I can get at this point will be helpful--I sent an e-mail to the professor asking for my paper. I also mentioned that I was hoping to use any comments I received on the paper to revise towards submission for publication. When the response came the next day, I managed to misread the professor's comment ("I made some recommendations about that on the paper for you," essentially) as a pretty firm dismissal of the idea of my pursuing publication of any form of this paper.
Needless to say, I was crushed (this was on Friday afternoon). My anxieties suddenly loomed large. I began to wonder what I was doing in a PhD program if I couldn't produce work that anyone thought was worth publishing. I was angry and disappointed with myself: I knew the paper was good (I'd received an "A" in the class), so the only possible scenario seemed to be that I'd produced yet another paper that was good coming from a student but wasn't the kind of work an actual scholar produced. I wondered if I'd ever be able to be anything other than a good student. I spent Friday night, Saturday, and most of Sunday consumed with disappointment, frustration, and self-loathing. I sulked and pouted. It was all melodramatic to the extreme. I've pined for girls in less embarrassing ways.
I knew my paper was going to be dropped off in my mailbox at some point today, so I came to campus early (I didn't have class until 5, but I got to the office at around 11) in the hopes of catching the professor and explaining why I thought the paper was worth working on further and sending out for consideration. I did not manage to do this: despite sitting in the office all day, the paper appeared when I wasn't looking and without the professor ever materializing. Once I had the paper, I looked at the comments. I will quote the second sentence of the comments, as I think it most accurately explains both how terribly I misread the e-mail I received from the professor and what a waste of time my existential crisis was:
"I highly recommend you submit some iteration of this work for publication."
Whoops. I guess I called that one wrong. I went back to reread the e-mail I'd received on Friday. What had seemed like a dismissal now was revealed to be a simple note about the content of the comments: the professor wanted me to know I was not alone in thinking this paper had merit and should be pursued further.
Anyway, I feel slightly ridiculous now about wasting my weekend over all this. Life as a graduate student is already full of crushing blows to one's self-confidence without manufacturing further crises. I still feel incredibly anxious re: the whole publication issue when I let myself think about it (which I try to avoid doing as much as possible), but at least now I know I can produce stuff that I could conceivably send out.
*I finally finished The King in the Tree by Steven Milhauser this weekend. All three novellas in that book are excellent. More on this later.
**At least with my friends and academic work. I like helping my friends, and I enjoy celebrating with them when they reap the rewards their hard work deserves. I am, however, extremely competitive in other areas, especially the board game Risk. While playing Risk, I once managed to cause a former girlfriend to say she hated me (on my birthday, no less) because of my cutthroat approach to the game.
***I should probably come out and admit that I have a less than charitable view of this person's scholarly abilities based on the conversations we've had. Yes, I am a bad person. I am trying to rectify this.
Sunday, May 22, 2011
A ONE-ACT PLAY ABOUT THE RAPTURE
Please do not take this for anything more than it is: some gentle ribbing about living in (and through) the end times.
THE RAPTURE: OR, HOW I LEARNED TO STOP WORRYING AND LOVE ESCHATOLOGICAL OCCURRENCES
A One-Act Play by bourgeoiseaux
Dramatis Personae
Person Expecting Rapture: Thin, with a fervent, earnest look about him.
Jesus: Just your everyday chill son of an omniscient and omnipotent divine being.
Scene
Outside a convenience store in a nondescript suburb of a North American metropolis.
[Enter PERSON EXPECTING RAPTURE and JESUS]
PERSON EXPECTING RAPTURE: Dude, what happened? You made us all look like assholes!
JESUS: [Looking sheepish] Oh, uh, yeah. Sorry about that.
P.E.R.: I mean, did you even take anyone up to heaven?
JESUS: Well, you know, it kind of just ended up being a chill day. Like, I watched a movie and some friends came over, and time got away from me. [Sighs]
P.E.R.: [Mouth slightly agape] . . .
JESUS: Plus, I've been having this back thing lately. I don't know, I think I should see a doctor about it or something. Maybe go to the chiropractor, you know?
P.E.R.: [Glowers] . . .
JESUS: [Half smiles] . . .
P.E.R.: What. The. FUCK?!
JESUS: [Coughs a little] Yeah, so, sorry to bail on you and stuff, but we can totally do stuff next weekend maybe. Or like, I don't know, get together during the week for a drink or something. If you've got time. If you're not too busy, you know, uh, talking up the whole “Rapture” thing.
P.E.R.: Dude, this is so not cool. Are you saying you're not into the Rapture? Because before you were saying . . .
JESUS: Well, I mean, “House of Jealous Lovers” was pretty great, but their album didn't really do it for me [Cymbal crash]. Hah, I'm just messin' with ya: I didn't actually like “House of Jealous Lovers” all that much, either.
P.E.R.: [Stares] . . .
JESUS: [Small chuckle] Seriously, though, you didn't need to, like, go on CNN and talk to newspapers or anything like that.
P.E.R.: But, Jesus, you said . . .
JESUS: [Sighs] It's like in some crappy 80s movie where they try and throw a house party because someone's parents are out of town and somebody makes like a poster or something and photocopies a bunch of them and puts them up all over town. And then there are all these people trying to come to your party, but you didn't really want to throw one in the first place. Like, maybe you were just hoping to veg a little bit with your parents out of town. You know, watch TV without your dad yelling at you to mow the lawn or something. Or your mom telling you to do your laundry or whatever.
P.E.R.: I don't think that's really what this is like. This was supposed to be the end of the world. The Final Judgement. You know?
JESUS: [Runs hand through hair] Look, we all say some things sometimes about wanting to see people more and hang out and maybe to be polite I said some stuff about carrying people off to heaven and whatnot.
P.E.R.: [Mouth fully agape] . . .
JESUS: OK, and I mean, yeah, looking back, it was maybe kind of shitty of me to say all that in the first place, but I didn't want to make a scene or anything. And if I'd known you were going to get so hung up on it all. I wouldn't have . . . I mean, I thought we were just kind of talking. So I'm sorry but, like, if you could just chill and be cool about all this that would be super.
P.E.R.: [Stares] . . .
JESUS: Can you do that for me? Can you be cool? [Makes “thumbs up” gesture]
P.E.R.: [Continues staring] . . .
JESUS: Sweet. Look, I'll give you a call soon, but right now I've got some people coming over. [Looks over shoulder] So, I'm gonna . . . I'm gonna go. You know. Hang out with them. But I'll call. I promise. I mean, not promise, but I'll do my best to call real soon.
P.E.R.: [Puts hand on Jesus' arm to stop him from leaving] But wait. Look, I just want to get this clear. So, you're not going to carry us off to heaven and damn all the nonbelievers for all eternity?
JESUS: [Shakes off P.E.R.'s grip. Looks embarrassed] Uh, not right now? Look, can we talk about this later? I just sort of left to get some coke and, like, pretzels or something for when people come over.
P.E.R.: No, Jesus. I'd really like to get this straightened out right now, please. [Folds arms across chest]
JESUS: [Nodding throughout and making gestures meant to convey contrition] I know, broseph, I know. That's totally understandable. And I appreciate how reasonable you're being about all this. I really do. You have no idea. It's just that now is not a particularly good time to talk about this. But listen, like I said, I'll totally call you and we'll figure this out. The world has plenty of time to end, right? I mean, hell, we've still got like over a year to show up the Mayans and their whole thing. Only, right now, I really need to get home. So let's just say it was my bad on the whole no Rapture thing and chalk that one up to poor communication. OK?
P.E.R.: . . .
JESUS: Cool. Alright. Take it easy, buddy. I'll see you around. Remember, drinks next weekend or during the week. [Holds out fist for fist bump]
P.E.R.: [Looks angry] . . .
JESUS: [Drops fist. Takes a step back] . . .
P.E.R.: . . . yeah. Cool. [Shakes head]
JESUS: Sweet. Peace out, bro.
[Exit JESUS]
P.E.R.: Fuck. Man, this made me look like such an asshole. And did he say he was having people over? Damn it. [Mutters and walks away]
[Exit P.E.R.]
Fin
THE RAPTURE: OR, HOW I LEARNED TO STOP WORRYING AND LOVE ESCHATOLOGICAL OCCURRENCES
A One-Act Play by bourgeoiseaux
Dramatis Personae
Person Expecting Rapture: Thin, with a fervent, earnest look about him.
Jesus: Just your everyday chill son of an omniscient and omnipotent divine being.
Scene
Outside a convenience store in a nondescript suburb of a North American metropolis.
[Enter PERSON EXPECTING RAPTURE and JESUS]
PERSON EXPECTING RAPTURE: Dude, what happened? You made us all look like assholes!
JESUS: [Looking sheepish] Oh, uh, yeah. Sorry about that.
P.E.R.: I mean, did you even take anyone up to heaven?
JESUS: Well, you know, it kind of just ended up being a chill day. Like, I watched a movie and some friends came over, and time got away from me. [Sighs]
P.E.R.: [Mouth slightly agape] . . .
JESUS: Plus, I've been having this back thing lately. I don't know, I think I should see a doctor about it or something. Maybe go to the chiropractor, you know?
P.E.R.: [Glowers] . . .
JESUS: [Half smiles] . . .
P.E.R.: What. The. FUCK?!
JESUS: [Coughs a little] Yeah, so, sorry to bail on you and stuff, but we can totally do stuff next weekend maybe. Or like, I don't know, get together during the week for a drink or something. If you've got time. If you're not too busy, you know, uh, talking up the whole “Rapture” thing.
P.E.R.: Dude, this is so not cool. Are you saying you're not into the Rapture? Because before you were saying . . .
JESUS: Well, I mean, “House of Jealous Lovers” was pretty great, but their album didn't really do it for me [Cymbal crash]. Hah, I'm just messin' with ya: I didn't actually like “House of Jealous Lovers” all that much, either.
P.E.R.: [Stares] . . .
JESUS: [Small chuckle] Seriously, though, you didn't need to, like, go on CNN and talk to newspapers or anything like that.
P.E.R.: But, Jesus, you said . . .
JESUS: [Sighs] It's like in some crappy 80s movie where they try and throw a house party because someone's parents are out of town and somebody makes like a poster or something and photocopies a bunch of them and puts them up all over town. And then there are all these people trying to come to your party, but you didn't really want to throw one in the first place. Like, maybe you were just hoping to veg a little bit with your parents out of town. You know, watch TV without your dad yelling at you to mow the lawn or something. Or your mom telling you to do your laundry or whatever.
P.E.R.: I don't think that's really what this is like. This was supposed to be the end of the world. The Final Judgement. You know?
JESUS: [Runs hand through hair] Look, we all say some things sometimes about wanting to see people more and hang out and maybe to be polite I said some stuff about carrying people off to heaven and whatnot.
P.E.R.: [Mouth fully agape] . . .
JESUS: OK, and I mean, yeah, looking back, it was maybe kind of shitty of me to say all that in the first place, but I didn't want to make a scene or anything. And if I'd known you were going to get so hung up on it all. I wouldn't have . . . I mean, I thought we were just kind of talking. So I'm sorry but, like, if you could just chill and be cool about all this that would be super.
P.E.R.: [Stares] . . .
JESUS: Can you do that for me? Can you be cool? [Makes “thumbs up” gesture]
P.E.R.: [Continues staring] . . .
JESUS: Sweet. Look, I'll give you a call soon, but right now I've got some people coming over. [Looks over shoulder] So, I'm gonna . . . I'm gonna go. You know. Hang out with them. But I'll call. I promise. I mean, not promise, but I'll do my best to call real soon.
P.E.R.: [Puts hand on Jesus' arm to stop him from leaving] But wait. Look, I just want to get this clear. So, you're not going to carry us off to heaven and damn all the nonbelievers for all eternity?
JESUS: [Shakes off P.E.R.'s grip. Looks embarrassed] Uh, not right now? Look, can we talk about this later? I just sort of left to get some coke and, like, pretzels or something for when people come over.
P.E.R.: No, Jesus. I'd really like to get this straightened out right now, please. [Folds arms across chest]
JESUS: [Nodding throughout and making gestures meant to convey contrition] I know, broseph, I know. That's totally understandable. And I appreciate how reasonable you're being about all this. I really do. You have no idea. It's just that now is not a particularly good time to talk about this. But listen, like I said, I'll totally call you and we'll figure this out. The world has plenty of time to end, right? I mean, hell, we've still got like over a year to show up the Mayans and their whole thing. Only, right now, I really need to get home. So let's just say it was my bad on the whole no Rapture thing and chalk that one up to poor communication. OK?
P.E.R.: . . .
JESUS: Cool. Alright. Take it easy, buddy. I'll see you around. Remember, drinks next weekend or during the week. [Holds out fist for fist bump]
P.E.R.: [Looks angry] . . .
JESUS: [Drops fist. Takes a step back] . . .
P.E.R.: . . . yeah. Cool. [Shakes head]
JESUS: Sweet. Peace out, bro.
[Exit JESUS]
P.E.R.: Fuck. Man, this made me look like such an asshole. And did he say he was having people over? Damn it. [Mutters and walks away]
[Exit P.E.R.]
Fin
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