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Authors: William Gaddis

Frolic of His Own

BOOK: Frolic of His Own
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Reviewers praise William Gaddis and
A Frolic of His Own

“Magnificent . . . both cutting-edge, state-of-the-art fiction and a throwback to the great moral novels of Tolstoy and Dickens . . . wonderfully complex . . . a stupendous achievement.

—Steven Moore,
Review of Contemporary Books

“Gaddis tackles our litigious culture, and he does so with a spirited vengeance. . . .
A Frolic of His Own
manages to take a whack at nearly every sacred cow in our culture. Broadly satirical, it nevertheless mirrors with devastating accuracy our clamoring, ill-mannered times. . . . Rich, hilarious, teeming with life,
A Frolic of His Own
reminds us of all that literature can be.”

—Alicia Metcalf Miller,
Cleveland Plain Dealer

“One of America's greatest post-war writers . . . Like all good satire, this is a very funny but also a very serious book.”

—Peter Guttridge,
Independent on Sunday

“Gaddis keeps up an astonishingly high level of energy as well as verbal and narrative invention . . . Like the English masters of the conversation novels, Firbank and Waugh, Gaddis will plant a hint of some disaster, enlarge on it slightly, circle back, and reveal its full horror and idiocy only when it assumed almost mythic proportions.”

—Rhonda Koenig,
New York

“The all-seeing Swift of our messy times, an unchallenged master of the dialogue-driven narrative—William Gaddis has captured the paranoia of modern life. He continues single-handedly to reinvigorate an American literature created by living speech in dazzling, energetic masterworks of relentless perception.”

—Eileen Battersby,
Irish Times

“Practically rebuilds the Tower of Babel from the sounds and furies of the late 20th century.”

—Richard Lacayo,
Time

“The writing is brilliant.”

—Malcolm Jones, Jr.,
Newsweek

“A stunning novel . . . wildly funny . . . I doubt that a more finally fine book will be published this year.”

—Frank McConnell,
The Boston Sunday Globe

“Gaddis remains one of contemporary fiction's true originals. He is funny, relentless, and uncompromising.”

—Scott Bradfield,
Independent

“Brilliant . . . the first genuine depiction of the bloodlust that is our national legal farce.”

—Rick Moody,
Details

“As a guide to our world, no one is better, or funnier, than William Gaddis . . . A superb comic novel, one in which you begin by laughing at the characters and end by caring for them deeply.”

—Michael Dirda,
Washington Post Book World

“His most accessible novel . . . pitched very close to the key of black humor.”

—Sven Birkerts,
The New Republic

“Pure gold, an original.”

—Neil Schmitz,
The Buffalo News

“Shamelessly comic and entertaining—in every sense a frolic of his own.”

—Peter Keough,
The Boston Phoenix

“A dazzling achievement.”

—David Kipen,
LA Reader's Review

“A hilarious critique of our litigation-crazed society.”

—Judith Wynn,
Boston Sunday Herald

“The wittiest novel to be published in many a year.”

—Thomas McGonigle,
Chicago Tribune

“When the history of 20th-century American letters is written, William Gaddis will occupy a prominent place as the most devastating satirist of American postwar society.”

—M. D. Carnegie,
The Washington Times

“William Gaddis' name will be synonymous with major fiction for decades to come.”

—Peter Wolfe,
Post-Dispatch
(St. Louis)

“A technical masterpiece . . . Perfectly timed and perfectly biting, it exposes the absurdity of today's litigation-happy society.”

—Vanessa V. Friedman,
Entertainment Weekly

“Gaddis is funniest when he's gunning for the barbarians at the gate—for the culture of the game show, the shopping mall, the tabloid newspaper. . . . Gaddis builds around the reader a magnificently ornate and intricate house of words. . . . There's a bed for us all in this oppressively realistic, beautifully designed Long Island madhouse.”

—Jonathan Raban,
The New York Review of Books

“This is classic modernist comedy.”

—
The New Yorker

For Muriel Oxenberg Murphy

What you seek in vain for, half your life, one day you come full upon, all the family at dinner. You seek it like a dream, and as soon as you find it you become its prey.

—Thoreau, to Emerson

Justice? —You get justice in the next world, in this world you have the law.

—Well of course Oscar wants both. I mean the way he talks about order? She drew back her foot from the threat of an old man paddling by in a wheelchair, —that all he's looking for is some kind of order?

—Make the trains run on time, that was the . . .

—I'm not talking about trains, Harry.

—I'm talking about fascism, that's where this compulsion for order ends up. The rest of it's opera.

—No but do you know what he really wants?

—The ones showing up in court demanding justice, all they've got their eye on's that million dollar price tag.

—It's not simply the money no, what they really want . . .

—It's the money, Christina, it's always the money. The rest of it's nothing but opera, now look.

—What they really want, your fascists, Oscar, everybody I mean what it's really all about? She tapped a defiant foot against the tinkling marimba rhythms seeping into the waiting room somewhere over near the curtains, where the wheelchair had collided with a radiator and come to rest. Trains? fascism? Because this isn't about any of that, or even ‘the opulence of plush velvet seats, brilliant spectacle and glorious singing' unless that's just their way of trying to be taken seriously too —because the money's just a yardstick isn't it. It's the only common reference people have for making other people take them as seriously as they take themselves, I mean that's all they're really asking for isn't it? Think about it, Harry.

—I've thought about it, now look. How long do we have to wait. I've got to be in court in an hour.

—He's been in therapy they said, it shouldn't be long. The nurse said he's in a highly agitated state.

—Ever see him when he wasn't?

—Well my God can you blame him? She was digging deep in the shopping bag on the floor there between them —after all, being run over by a car?

—Looks like he's planning a long stay.

—Well of course he wanted his own robe and pajamas, the rest of it's mail, notes, papers, how he expects to get any work done here.

—Probably as much as he ever gets done anywhere.

—And do you have to start that? I mean that's why I asked you to stop up here and see him isn't it? to show a little family concern for him? Maybe you can even pretend it was your own idea, here . . . coming up with whatever brightly wrapped, —you can give him this.

—But what . . .

—It's just a jar of ginger preserves, the kind of thing he likes with his toast in the morning. I'm sure all he gets here is that loathsome Kraft it's grape because it's purple.

—You don't think he'll believe it do you? that I went out and bought him ginger preserves for his morning toast?

—I think he'll think you were very thoughtful.

—I was. I picked up a copy of this Opinion in the Szyrk case for him.

—That was very thoughtful Harry, it was just the wrong thought. You know he and Father hardly see eye to eye on anything as it is, do you think this asinine business about the dog all over the papers will help matters?

—And something else here about that big Civil War movie, he may want the . . .

—Well my God you're not going to show him that! I mean I just told you he's in a highly agitated state didn't I? Isn't it all bad enough? When I drove out there to pick up his things the lawns hadn't been cut, that south veranda still hasn't been repaired I don't know what holds it up, he was going to have the garage doors painted and they haven't been touched, the way he's talked about getting the ignition on that terrible car fixed for months, and then of course Lily drove in, that was all I needed. In a BMW. I wish you wouldn't drum your fingers that way, and can't you do something about that awful music? His hands came to grips on the attaché case flat on his lap, and she closed her knees as though in restraint against the tum, tum, tum tum tum, tum being accompanied without great success by stabs from the wheelchair. —A new BMW, she'll probably be here any minute. I didn't want to tell her what had happened but of course I knew Oscar would be furious if I didn't, it's like everything else. I thought it was that real estate woman driving in but it turned out he's never even called her, it's just as well though. You can't imagine anyone wanting to buy the place the way it looked this morning.

—Exactly.

—What do you mean, exactly. It's Father who's making noises about selling it after all.

—That Oscar doesn't want to see the place sold.

—Well I know that Harry my God, we've gone over it for a hundred
years. I mean we used to talk about one of us buying the other one out when we grew up, but if something happened to him and the whole place would come to me he'd get violent because it had belonged to his mother when Father married her and he'd say he'd come back and haunt me, he'd jump out from behind doors to show me what he'd do, grabbing me and tickling me till I screamed, till I couldn't breathe till, till somebody came, until my mother came and pulled him off, or Father. That's all he was afraid of. Father.

—Sounds a little unhealthy, if you ask me.

—Well I didn't. I mean we were just children, after all.

—Exactly.

The music had taken up a Latin throb livened by haphazard thrusts, lurches, abrupt leaps of hands from the wheelchair where she turned her back, left an awkward leg behind in her impatience, and which opera, if it came to that, ‘true love defying family hatred'? a ‘tragic tale of family ties and superstition'? tapping the deviant foot behind her —but where he ever thought he'd get the money, unless he married it like Father did. I mean you can see why Lily's parents gave up on her, he told me her father's putting all his money into her brother's hands, getting around the estate taxes in case he dies, so of course she pictures herself marrying Oscar and moving right in if she can ever get her divorce straight, which of course she can't. Where are you going.

—Look he's probably going to be here for a while, why don't I come up later in the week when he . . .

—You can come up later in the week too Harry, I mean this whole thing will give you both a chance to get to know each other a little better won't it, spend some time just chatting? Because I still think he paid off her first lawyer when she went on to this second one, half Oscar's age and she's already managed a mess of a marriage and this mess of a divorce and her mess of a family and now this mess she's got herself into getting her purse stolen? Of course they won't give her a penny no, no but Oscar will, lending her money as though she could ever pay it back while he's talked about getting the ignition on that car fixed for months, the way he's talked about his teeth, will the car last long enough to justify getting new tires. Two thousand dollars for new teeth no, no he'll give it to Lily but he won't go out and buy himself new oh my God! What happened!

BOOK: Frolic of His Own
13.2Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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