William Gaddis - J R

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Winner of the 1976 National Book Award,
is a biting satire about the many ways in which capitalism twists the American spirit into something dangerous, yet pervasive and unassailable. At the center of the novel is a hilarious eleven year old — J R — who with boyish enthusiasm turns a few basic lessons in capitalist principles, coupled with a young boy’s lack of conscience, into a massive and exploitative paper empire. The result is one of the funniest and most disturbing stories ever told about the corruption of the American dream.

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— I’ll wait for you in the living room… And there, — Jack did you bring that money? It should be in a bank before anything happens to it, wait let me be sure I have my key… and the door snapped closed behind them, finally the white telephone rang as though touched off caught by sunlight crossing the room, leaving it behind in shadow, in darkness, — was that the telephone? I thought I’d left a light on…

— Didn’t know you meant to, I turned it off when we went out. Where shall I put these?

— Just, anywhere. Put them down anywhere.

— Always upsets me to see energy leaking, this place uptown where the hot water…

— Everything upsets you, everything seems to you…

— Only way to keep something real long enough to…

— Is that how you explain that performance you just put on in the elevator at Tripler’s? Jack honestly…

— Going to get a drink, do you want one?

— Yes. In the bedroom, I’ve got to get out of these things…

But when he came rattling ice on the sides of the glasses she was still sitting on the edge of a bed there, looking at her hands. — You didn’t want to talk about it now you want to, Amy?

— Jack whatever made you behave that way? The way that old man was looking at us what possible reason, thank you… she took the glass and sipped, — I could see you in the mirror your mouth hanging open rolling your eyes Jack what, no I’m not angry I just have to know, what makes you do these things I just have to know!

— Amy listen just, just listen… he came down across from her, drank off half his glass, — sometimes I, let me get off this damned jacket… and he was up to pull it off, finished his drink and came down beside her. — I mean sometimes there are situations that just don’t seem to have any solution in their own context do you, do you see what I mean? And the only way to, the only thing to do is step in and change the whole context almost like, sometimes it’s like a whole little play starting in my head Amy you’re so, just so damned elegant wherever we went today everybody so damned deferential, in the bank they would have kissed your feet and that woman in Bergdorf’s and I felt like…

— Jack all that’s just because they know my…

— No but finally in Tripler’s how God damned helpless you feel in an elevator and standing there this summer suit sleeves halfway to my elbows no tie and that shirt and, and look at the trousers and that prosperous old bastard looking us over, he really looked like he was going to speak to you and I just suddenly thought grab a context before he can, looks like the daughter of wealth and breeding let the old bastard in his ninety dollar shoes think she’s taking me shopping, family has an aging halfwit son and she’s taking him out to buy a new, Amy? He came down as abruptly as she’d turned away, — I just do things sometimes that, I’m crazy about you and sometimes I just seem to do the wrong things I God damn it I always do I…

— Jack don’t say things like that! she was up and past him, bare time for him to get in to fill his glass and come back to find her there, sheet drawn up and a gaze fixed on the ceiling that took life brought down to him with — I wished you’d been able to wear that suit out of the store, it makes you look awfully distinguished Jack I can’t wait till you have it.

— I can’t either, he said unfastening his waist, undoing buttons, down beside her dislodging the sheet.

— At least you got shirts but why you didn’t simply get a dozen, didn’t you oh! Jack that’s not… she’d grabbed for the glass rested on the white rise under his hand, — not friendly to bellies…! and the ice cubes rattled with its toss.

— Not what?

— It’s just something silly, some sort of newsletter a boy in my class had about commodity futures I just thought of it. We are friendly to bellies in the long term it said, isn’t that…

— Show you I can be as friendly to bellies as…

— No please… she caught his forehead as his lips caught its rise, tongue sought water welled there from the glass, — if we can get in these here bellies he said and I asked him what on earth he was talking about, that bleak little Vansant boy and it’s not funny, really. He’s so earnest so, he thinks there’s a millionaire behind everything he sees and that’s all he does see, it’s just all so sad really.

— Know what you mean, I owe him a dollar.

— Do you I owe him eighty cents, if he were, if only he weren’t so eager about all the wrong things, they’re not bad things really just, things…

— What do you mean not bad things, ever seen him in the Post Office with that kid with the head like a toothbrush? that Hyde kid? See them in there together getting their mail you suddenly know what the industrial military complex is all about.

She drew his head up. — I guess I just don’t want to think about it. It was awfully selfish of me to do it in the first place really, taking that job, I simply had to change things for a little, she said against his shoulder where her nails traced down, — and I think at first I really thought I could help but, oh it all seems so long ago that dreadful Mister Whiteback, that poor little Mister diCephalis and his ghastly wife… her hand measured ribs, moved on to twine a finger into hair.

— Create a second class profession you fill it with second class people, there’s no…

— And that poor Mister Glancy and even that poor creature Mister Vogel…

— No well Vogel was, tell you the truth I couldn’t have held out as long as I did without Vogel. He’d get me aside for discussions on things like the feasibility of sending people by telegraph and…

— Jack he was crazy wasn’t he? Her hand’s inquiry paused, found shapes changing dimension in its warmth, — really quite insane?

— Probably still is… he came on his side, closer, — really just a question of technical difficulties though, run into problems of preserving life in the tissue when you lower the organism’s degree of activity to keep it stable while part of it’s being broken down to be recreated somewhere else but…

— No Jack honestly… her hand, stilled, moved again, filling.

— Had some interesting theories on the genesis of the steam engine too, he said hand running down her side to descend the slope turned from him, seeking warmth, — great admirer of yours…

— Oh I know that’s what was so sad but, but it wasn’t even that Jack how can children grow up thinking things like, that same boy J R he thought a museum exhibit he’d seen pictures of Jack he thought the Eskimos in it were stuffed oh it’s not funny… her fingers closed abruptly in their rise, — and when things happened like that poor boy Buzzie and that tragic accident that child who was actually shot I’ve kept myself even from thinking about it…

— Look it would have been an accident if it hadn’t happened, point everything’s reached Amy it God damned near couldn’t not have happened…

— No I don’t want to talk about it it’s all the same thing, that and stuffed Eskimos and sending people by wire and I don’t…

But he’d come up on one elbow against her, — there’s one thing though listen I don’t want you to think I’m, in the elevator today that I think being retarded or simple minded is…

— Jack I don’t want to talk about it… her hand resumed its flow, — I’m not brave really…

— But if you thought I think it’s funny because I, because a boy I knew in boarding school family so God damned wealthy all they exchanged at Christmas were three percent municipals I used to try to help him with his stamp collection, they probably could have bought him the British Guiana two cents rose if they’d ever thought of him as anything but retarded luggage but the Minuet in G you’d look at him and know he was hearing things you didn’t, knew things nobody else did my throat still closes when I hear that, sweetest lonely God damned person I ever… she pulled him down silenced against her, his face held close as though to free her own for some expression, or for none, fixed on the ceiling as her fingers rose and fell and her free hand came to stroke his temple, — because Amy I wouldn’t want you to think I… and she pulled him over lips gone in the curve of her throat, her knees reared till ankle caught ankle at his back, nails bit his shoulders raking down and her head slipped from the edge and then her shoulders all rise and fall as they came off together to the floor between the beds where her feet rose wide, found purchase to bring her weight up disputing the plunge of his, to still dispute it when it was destroyed until her nails relented at his neck, allowed a gasp that almost shaped her name.

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