with a step-down living room and a medium-size media room, rather than the house I do live in, where the pictures pop off the walls spontaneously because the walls are made of thickened paint.
I leveled the kitchen floor (whoever put these tiles in originally did it all wrong, mister). I had the chimney rebuilt (the house leans, the chimney leans, mister). The paint on the doors is cracked in so many directions, it looks like a Pollock. The lawn, what there is of it, resembles the skin of a shaved horse. And the porch is sinking. And the gutters are feeding water back toward the foundation. And the floorboards don't line up because there have been a dozen room shifts since the house went up in 1882.
And nowâbecause the house has been revealed as oldâyou expect me to say that I find all its deteriorations beautiful, more beautiful than any house where the window frames are not rhomboids and the doors close flush. But I do not. It drives me wild and wastes my time to be forever shoring up the place or panicking like some desperate villager in Mexico when the floods have risen to the second story. Frankly, I half expect the arrival of a flood, the spill-off from a hurricane. The house is near the sea.
And if a flood should happen, something like the hurricane of 1938, my old house will undoubtedly be whacked into the bay, and so will all the beautiful houses around here. Then everyone will have to rebuild. The people who occupy the beautiful houses will make new houses that are even more beautiful. And I will make a beautiful house, tooâjust as beautiful as theirsâand it will give me the creeps. But what can I do? It is impossible to reconstruct a house such as the one I've got now. It simply could not be done, which is, of course, my point.
Lines Written Nowhere Near Tintern Abbey
On How to Tell You've Been at a Dinner Party with Witty People
For no reason at all, you feel like hosing down a butcher shop.
On Why People Get Married
Form rescues content. That's why.
On Madness: A Primer
First, ask about her former lovers.
On Laughter
A great big laugh ends in a sigh. I don't understand that, but I thought I'd mention it.
On Learning to Hate English Literature
The pathetic fallacy is not a fallacy; metaphysical poetry is not metaphysical; Henry James is hardly worth the time; and a whale road is not a kenning. It's a whale road.
On Ambition
"The real is a wilderness/that ambition calls a garden," wrote Harold Brodkey. It could be true, even useful, but only if you prefer a garden to a wilderness.
On Zealotry
The zealot who stands on his head sees everything that the man who stands upright sees. So it's never a good idea to argue with him in terms of the world he takes in. You just have to note that he's standing on his head.
On the Nature of Scholarship
A scholar of renown wrote a love letter to a lady he wished to marry. It consisted of much rational thought and many references to theology. Certain spaces were deliberately left blank in the text. He then handed the letter to his secretary for typing with the instructions, as regarding the blank spaces, "insert endearments here." This is a true story.
On Plagiarists and Their Apologists
Between the bubonic and the plague, how to choose?
On Institutions
Institutions do not care for particulars. That is why you must stay as far away from them as possible, my sweet particular.
On God
Montesquieu said: "If triangles had a god, it would have three sides." My kind of God.
To One Who Asks Why I Am in Such a Rage
The usual, friend. Injustice.
To Hannibal Lecter
What's eating
you?
Twenty Things One Would Like to See in Movies
The Amish family is extremely nasty and abusive.
The African-American cop is not the first one killed.
No dances, no wolves.
The central male figure is not an architect.
No one says: "Get your butt in here (or out of here)."
The serial killer leaves no clues, does not get in touch with the pursuing
I leveled the kitchen floor (whoever put these tiles in originally did it all wrong, mister). I had the chimney rebuilt (the house leans, the chimney leans, mister). The paint on the doors is cracked in so many directions, it looks like a Pollock. The lawn, what there is of it, resembles the skin of a shaved horse. And the porch is sinking. And the gutters are feeding water back toward the foundation. And the floorboards don't line up because there have been a dozen room shifts since the house went up in 1882.
And nowâbecause the house has been revealed as oldâyou expect me to say that I find all its deteriorations beautiful, more beautiful than any house where the window frames are not rhomboids and the doors close flush. But I do not. It drives me wild and wastes my time to be forever shoring up the place or panicking like some desperate villager in Mexico when the floods have risen to the second story. Frankly, I half expect the arrival of a flood, the spill-off from a hurricane. The house is near the sea.
And if a flood should happen, something like the hurricane of 1938, my old house will undoubtedly be whacked into the bay, and so will all the beautiful houses around here. Then everyone will have to rebuild. The people who occupy the beautiful houses will make new houses that are even more beautiful. And I will make a beautiful house, tooâjust as beautiful as theirsâand it will give me the creeps. But what can I do? It is impossible to reconstruct a house such as the one I've got now. It simply could not be done, which is, of course, my point.
Lines Written Nowhere Near Tintern Abbey
On How to Tell You've Been at a Dinner Party with Witty People
For no reason at all, you feel like hosing down a butcher shop.
On Why People Get Married
Form rescues content. That's why.
On Madness: A Primer
First, ask about her former lovers.
On Laughter
A great big laugh ends in a sigh. I don't understand that, but I thought I'd mention it.
On Learning to Hate English Literature
The pathetic fallacy is not a fallacy; metaphysical poetry is not metaphysical; Henry James is hardly worth the time; and a whale road is not a kenning. It's a whale road.
On Ambition
"The real is a wilderness/that ambition calls a garden," wrote Harold Brodkey. It could be true, even useful, but only if you prefer a garden to a wilderness.
On Zealotry
The zealot who stands on his head sees everything that the man who stands upright sees. So it's never a good idea to argue with him in terms of the world he takes in. You just have to note that he's standing on his head.
On the Nature of Scholarship
A scholar of renown wrote a love letter to a lady he wished to marry. It consisted of much rational thought and many references to theology. Certain spaces were deliberately left blank in the text. He then handed the letter to his secretary for typing with the instructions, as regarding the blank spaces, "insert endearments here." This is a true story.
On Plagiarists and Their Apologists
Between the bubonic and the plague, how to choose?
On Institutions
Institutions do not care for particulars. That is why you must stay as far away from them as possible, my sweet particular.
On God
Montesquieu said: "If triangles had a god, it would have three sides." My kind of God.
To One Who Asks Why I Am in Such a Rage
The usual, friend. Injustice.
To Hannibal Lecter
What's eating
you?
Twenty Things One Would Like to See in Movies
The Amish family is extremely nasty and abusive.
The African-American cop is not the first one killed.
No dances, no wolves.
The central male figure is not an architect.
No one says: "Get your butt in here (or out of here)."
The serial killer leaves no clues, does not get in touch with the pursuing
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