Steve Tomasula - IN & OZ
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- Название:IN & OZ
- Автор:
- Издательство:University of Chicago Press
- Жанр:
- Год:2012
- ISBN:нет данных
- Рейтинг книги:5 / 5. Голосов: 1
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IN & OZ: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация
Предлагаем к чтению аннотацию, описание, краткое содержание или предисловие (зависит от того, что написал сам автор книги «IN & OZ»). Если вы не нашли необходимую информацию о книге — напишите в комментариях, мы постараемся отыскать её.
is a heady, avant-garde book, rooted in convincing characters even as it simultaneously subverts the genre of novel and moves it forward.
IN & OZ
IN & OZ
A novel not only for fiction lovers, but also for artists of all stripes,
creates a fantasy that illumines our own world as it lucidly builds its own.
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“In this they are like viewers who remain fixated on rainbows, mistaking this sliver of visible light for the entire electro-magnetic spectrum, comforting audiences by confirming their assumptions about the good and the natural….” Composer touched Designer’s arm for emphasis. She didn’t move away. “But tell me, once all music is as popular as door chimes, what will be the point?”
Mechanic wanted to touch her other arm. To tell her how all that Composer said about silence applied equally to machines. Gratefully, he didn’t have to: “My friends and I are not so interested in art that pleases by confirming the justice, the naturalness, the nobility, even, of those who, unawares, hold it to be just, and natural, and noble for them to spend their days making cars so they can buy cars to get to jobs where they make cars.”
Composer winked at Mechanic, including him.
“B-B-But…” Mechanic stuttered, struggling for a way to make her see that autos still could be harmonies of beautiful metal that was seen, and beautiful mechanics that remained unseen. Why not?
“We are more interested in X-rays of machines,” Composer was saying, “X-rays of music.”
“If only there was some way of bringing them together,” she answered earnestly.
Yes! Yes! Yes! screamed through Mechanic’s mind as his mouth struggled for the words to say it.
Smiling, Composer raised his glass. “To Art.”
“And to love!” Mechanic blurted out. He thought Designer gave him a smile. But that may have just been a trick of the light, the bare bulb that hung above their booth sputtering out just at that moment. He licked his lips to continue, to work into the conversation his undying admiration for her, and for what they could do together — Why not?
Just as he found the coordination to speak, though, she said, “Well I like rainbows anyway. They are beautiful.”
“Yes, but—”
“And if silence is just as important as sound, isn’t it just a matter of which one you like better? I mean, what good is art that no one can understand? Or art that no one can stand to look at? Even Aristotle said, That art is best which hides art.”
Had Photographer been there, Mechanic knew, he would have launched into her Aristotle like a junkyard dog into a trespasser.
“Wouldn’t it be better,” she said, “to take a middle road? To make art everyone can understand and love? Even if it says less?”
As she continued to speak, Mechanic expected Composer to say something in rebuttal to the reasons, or non-reasons, she gave for liking elevator music: that though she didn’t know anything about music, she knew what she liked, and what she liked had nothing to do with the reasons they gave for liking. It was beyond liking. Beyond reason, she reasoned, claiming that giving such seduction reason was like diagramming the beauty of a sunset, or a moonrise, the reasons themselves seductive, but in the end seduction and not consummation, not sunset, not moonrise….
Mechanic itched to say something himself, Aristotle obviously not knowing a crankshaft from a carburetor. But Composer only gave a sympathetic nod and answered, “Perhaps.” Then he — he who rarely laughed — let out a hearty chuckle, “Yes, perhaps you are completely right. Who can say?” And Mechanic remained silent, the clink of beer bottles the two of them exchanged in front of his face as meaningful as some secret handshake he had been allowed to witness, but not understand.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Did it all come down to cash?
From the vantage of the tollbooth, the highest point in IN not counting Photographer’s camera-house, Mechanic could see the OZ skyline glittering like a city molded of diamond dust. The Essence of OZ Building rose highest of all, of course, and he looked onto it longingly, imagining Designer there drawing mythical creatures that would morph into clay models, then real steel, bent and welded by robots in the brown, palm-treed countries from which they emanated, filling the roads of the world, including the one that streamed by him in his tollbooth. $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, $1.00, 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