Mark Z Danielewski

by House Of Leaves (pdf)

  "Then one day I arrived at his place and the pages had vanished. Also all his fingers were bandaged. He mumbled something about falling, scraping up his hands. At first, he ignored me when I asked him about our work, but when I persisted he muttered something like 'What difference does it make? They're dead

  [99]Tobias Chalmer's J's Ironic Postures (London University Press, 1954), p. 92. Chalmer, however, fails to take into account Genesis 25:25-26.

  [100]Norman J. Cohen's Self, Struggle Change: Family Conflict Stories in Genesis and Their Healing Insights for Our Lives (Woodstock, Vermont: Jewish Lights Publishing, 1995), p. 98.

  [101]Robert Davidson's Genesis 12-50 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979), p. 122.

  [102]Freed Kashon's Esau (Birmingham, Ala

  Linkbama: Maavar Yabbok Press, 1996), p. 159.

  [104]Personal interviews with Damion Searle, Annabelle Whitten and Isaac Hodge. February 5-23, 1995.

  [105]Lost.

  [106]From the Robert Davidson commentary: "Jacob wrestled with an unidentified 'man' who turned out to be God, wrestled and lived to tell the tale. Gathered into the story are so many curious elements that we can only assume that here is a story which has taken many centuries to reach its present form, and which has assimilated material, some of it very primitive, which goes back long before the time of Jacob. It is like an old house which has had additions built on to it, and has been restored and renovated more than once during the passing years." p. 184.

  [107]Lost.

  [108]Ibid.

  [109] Ibid.

  [110]See Genesis 27:24243

  [111]Gershom Scholem's The Messianic Idea in Judaism (New York: Schocken Books, 1971), p. 133. In taking the time to consider Frank's work, Scholem does not fail to also point out Frank's questionable character: "Jacob Frank (1726-91) will always be remembered as one of the most frightening phenomena in the whole Jewish history: a religious leader who, whether for purely self-interested motives or otherwise, was in all his actions a truly corrupt and degenerate individual." p. 126.

  [112]Lost.

  [112]Taking into account Chapter Six, only Tom's creatures, born out of the absence of light, shaped with his bare hands, seem able to exist in that place, though all of them are as mutable as letters, as permanent as fame, a strange little bestiary lamenting nothing, instructing no one, revealing the outline of lives really only visible to the imagination.

  And tonight as I copied this scene down, I began to feel very bad. Maybe because Tom's antics only temporarily transform that place into something other than itself, though even that transformation is not without its own peculiar horror; for no matter how many creatures he flings on the wall of his tent, no matter how large or how real they may appear, they still all perish in a flood of darkness. No Noah's ark. Nothing safe. No way to survive. Which may have had something to do with my outburst at the Shop today.

  I was in some weird kind of jittery daze. Everyone was there, Thumper, my boss, the usual visitants, along with some depraved biker who was in the middle of getting an octopus carved into his deltoid. He kept blathering on about the permanence of ink which I guess really got to me because I started howling, and loud too—real loud—spit sputtering off my lips, snot shooting out of my nose.

  "Permanent?" I shouted. "Are you fucking loopy, man?"

  Everyone was shocked. The biker could have taught me a thing or two about the impermanence or at least the destructibility of flesh—in this case my flesh—but he was also shocked. Thumper came to my rescue, quickly escorting me outside and ordering me to take the day off: "I don't know what you're getting messed up in Johnny but it's fucking you up bad." Then she touched my arm and I immediately wanted to tell her everything. Right then and there. I needed to tell her everything. Unfortunately, there was no question in my mind that she would think I was certifiable if I started rattling on about animals and Hand shadows, mutable as letters, as permanent as fame, a strange be— aww fuck, the hell with the rest. I choked down the words. Maybe I am certifiable. I came here instead. Which in an odd and round about way brings me to the Pekinese, the dog story I mentioned a ways back but didn't want to

  [113]Breaks at 6,000 to 7,000 pounds. — Ed.

  Link25'if Dft=16t2 where time is calculated in seconds, the quarter would have to have fallen 27,273 miles exceeding even the earth's circumference at the equator by 2,371 miles. Calculating at 32 ft/sec2 the number climbs even higher to 54,545 miles. An "impossible distance" indeed.252

  [115]"Not worth a rat's ass." — Ed.

  [116]Teppet C. Brookes' The Places I've Seen as told to Emily Lucy Gates (San Francisco: Russian Hill Press, 1996), p. 37-69.

  [117]Ibid., p. 38.258

  [118]Teppet C. Brookes' The Places I've Seen, p. 142.

  [118]Gail Kalt's "The Loss of Faith-(Thank God!)" Grand Street, v. 54, fall 1195, p. 118.

  [119]Helen Agallway's "The Process of Leaving" Diss. Indiana University, 1995, p. 241.

  [120]Many have complained that The Holloway Tape as well as the two untitled sequences frequently

  identified as "The Wait" and "The Evacuation" are incomprehensible. Poor resolution, focus, and sound

  (with the exception of the interviews shot afterward in 16mm) further exacerbate the difficulties posed by so

  many jarring cuts and a general chronological jumble. That said, it is crucial to recognize how poor quality

  and general incoherence is not a reflection of the creator's state of mind. Quite the contrary, Navidson

  brilliantly used these stylistic discrepancies to further drive home the overwhelming horror and dislocation

  experienced by his family during "llie Evacuation." For other books devoted specifically to reconstructing

  the narrative see The Navidson Record: The Novelization (Los Angeles: Goal Gothum Publication, 1994); Thorton J. Cannon Jr.'s The Navidson Record: Action and Chronologies (Portland: Penny Brook Press, 1996): and Esther Hartline's Thru Lines (New York: Dutton, 1995).

  [121]See U.S. News World Report, v. 121, December 30, 1996, p. 84; Premiere, v. 6, May 1993, p. 68- 70; Life, v. 17, July 1994, p. 26-32; Climbing, November 1, 1995, p. 44; Details, December 1995, p. 118.

  [122]Nor is that the first time the word "grave" appears in reference to the house in The Navidson Record. When Reston suggests Navidson use the Leica distance meter, he adds, "That should put this ghost in the grave fast." Holloway in Exploration #3 mutters: "Cold as a grave." Also in the same segment Wax grunts a variation, "I feel like I'm in a coffin." In one of her Hi 8 journal entries, Karen tries to make light of her situation when she remarks: "It's like having a giant catacomb for a family room." Tom in Tom's Story tells the "grave-maker" joke, while Reston, during the rescue attempt, admits to Navidson: "You know, I feel like I'm in a grave." To which Navidson responds, "Makes you wonder what gets buried here." "Well judging by the size," Reston replies. "It must be the giant from Jack and the fucking Beanstalk." Giant indeed.268

  [123]See Harmon FrischV'Not Even Bill's Acquaintance" Twenty Years In The Program ed. Cynthia Huxley (New York: W. W. Norton Company, 1996), p. 143-179.

  [124]Karen's emotional response is not limited to longing. Earlier that evening she retreated to the bathroom, ran the water in the sink, and recorded this somewhat accusatory Hi 8 journal entry: "Damn you for going, Navy. Damn you. [Starting to cry] This house, this home, was supposed to help us get closer. It was supposed to be better and stronger than some stupid marriage vow. It was supposed to make us a family. [Sobbing] But, oh my god, look what's happened."

  [125]Anita Massine's Dialects of Divorce In American Film In The Twentieth Century (Oxford, Ohio: Miami University Press, 1995), p. 228.

  [126]Garegin Thorndike Taylor's "The Ballast of Self" Modern Psyche, v. 18, 1996, p. 74. Also refer back to Chapter II and V.

  [127]Professor Lyle Macdonough's "Dissolution of Love in The Navidson Record," Crafton Lecture Series, Chatfield College in St. Martin Ohio, February 9, 1996.

  LinkThat wa
s pretty odd to come across something, let alone anything, in that place. But what made finding that stuff particularly strange was how much I'd been thinking of Holloway at the time. I kept expecting him to jump around some comer and shoot me.

  "After that, I was a little spooked and made sure to chuck the ammo down into that pit off to my right. Over and over, I kept wondering what happened to his body. It was making me crazy. So I tried fixing my mind on other things.

  "I remember thinking then that one of the toenails on my right foot, the big toenail, had torn loose and started to bleed. That's when De— ... Delia! came into my head which was awful.

  "Finally though, I began concentrating on Karen. On Chad and Daisy. On Tom and Billy. I thought about every time we'd gone to a movie together or a game or whatever, ten years ago, four months ago, twenty years ago. I remembered when I first met Karen. The way she moved. These perfect angles she'd make with her wrists. Her beautiful long fingers. I remembered when Chad was bom. All that kind of stuff, trying to recall those moments as vividly as possible. In as much detail. Eventually I went into this daze and the hours began to melt away. Felt like minutes.

  "On the third night I tried to take another step and found there wasn't one. I was in the Great Hall again. Oddly enough though, as I soon found out, I was still a good ways from home. For some reason everything had stretched there too. Now all of a sudden, there were a lot of new dead ends. It took me another day and night to get back to the living room, and to tell you the truth I was never sure I was going to make it until I finally did."

  [129]Some kind of ash landed on the following pages, in some places burning away small holes, in other places eradicating large chunks of text. Rather than try to reconstruct what was destroyed I decided to just bracket the gaps—[].

  Unfortunately I have no idea what stuff did the actual charring. It's way too copious for cigarette tappings, and anyway Zampano didn't smoke. Another small mystery to muse over, if you like, or just forget, which I recommend. Though even I'm unable to follow my own advice, imagining instead gray ash floating down like snow everywhere, after the blast but still hours before that fabled avalanche of heat, the pyroclastic roar that will incinerate everything, even if for the time being—and there still is time . . . —it's just small flakes leisurely kissing away tiny bits of meaning, while high above, the eruption continues to black out the sun.

  There's only one choice and the brave make it.

  Fly from the path.

  Lude dropped by a few nights ago. It's mid-September but I hadn't seen him since June. News that I'd been fired from the Shop apparently pissed him off, though why he should care I've no idea. Like my boss, he also assumed I was on smack. More than a little freaked too when he finally saw for himself how bad off I was, real gaunt and withdrawn and not without a certain odor either. But Lude's no idiot. One glance at my room and he knew junk was not the problem. All those books, sketches, collages, reams and reams of paper, measuring tapes nailed from corner to floor, and of course that big black trunk right there in

  [130]Jeremy Flint's Violent Seeds: The Holloway Roberts Myst [ ] (Los[]Angel[ ]: 2.13.61, 1996), p. 48.

  [131]These Xs indicate text was inked out—not burned.

  [132]Flint, p. 53.

  Link28'Refer back to Chapter 5: footnote 67. — Ed.

  [134]Flint, p. 61.

  [135]IbXXXXXXXXSuiXXXXXXXXXXX [ ] xxxxxxxx284

  [136]Ned H. Cassem, "The Person Confronting Death" in The Ne [ ]Harvard Guide to Psychiatry ed. Armand M. Nicholi, jr[ ] M.D. (C[ ]brid[]e: Harvard University Press, 1 [188), p. 743. '

  [137]1 ]id., [] 744.

  [138]Rosemary End[ ]art's How Have You Who Loved Ever Loved A Next Time? (New York: Times Books, 19[ ] p. 1432-1436).

  [139]Le reveur, dans son coin, a raye le monde en une reverie minutieuse qui detruit un a un tous les ohjets du monde.

  Link]endlessly[] in an ever unfolding []nd yet never opening sequence, [ ] lost on stone trails [

  [141]I've no decent explanation why Zampand calls this section "The Escape" when in footnote 265 he refers to it as "The Evacuation." All I can say is that this error strikes me as similar to his earlier waffling over whether to call the living room a "base camp" or "command post."

  [142]Cassady Roulet's Theater In Film (Burlington: Barstow Press, 1994), p. 56. Roulet also states in his preface: "My friend Diana Neetz at The World of Interiors likes to imagine that the stage is set for Lear, especially with that October storm continuing to boom outside the Navidson's home."

  [143]Martin Quoirez on The L. Patrick Morning Show, KRAD, Cleveland, Ohio, October 1, 1996.

  [144]Tony K. Rich's "Tip The Porter" The Washington Post, v. 119, December 28, 1995, p. C-l, column 4.

  [145]Due to the darkness and insufferable limitations of the Hi 8s, the chaotic bits of tape representing these events must be supplemented with Billy's narration. Navidson, however, does not discuss any of these horrific moments in The Last Interview. Instead he makes Reston the sequence's sole authority. This is odd, especially since Reston saw none of it. He is only recounting what Navidson told him himself. The general consensus has always been that the memory is simply too painful for Navidson to revisit. But there is another possibility: Navidson refuses to abandon the more perspicacious portion of his audience. By relying on Reston as the sole narrative voice, he subtly draws attention once again to the question of inadequacies in representation, no matter the medium, no matter how flawless. Here in particular, he mockingly emphasizes the fallen nature of any history by purposefully concocting an absurd number

  of generations. Consider: 1. Tom's broken hands ------------------ 2. Navidson's perception of Tom's hurt

  3. Navidson's description of Tom's hurt to Reston ------------------------ 4. Reston's re-telling of

  Navidson's description based on Navidson's recollection and perception of Tom's actual hurt. A pointed reminder that representation does not replace. It only offers distance and in rare cases perspective.

  [145]Audrie McCullogh interviewed by Liza Richardson on "Bare Facts," KCRW, Los Angeles, June 16, 1993.

  [146]Karen had told Fowler she was married. She even wore one of her mother's old wedding bands to prove it. (See New York, v. 27, October 31, 1994, p. 92-93).

  [147]7Vi? Star, January 24, 1995, p. 18.

  [148]Cahill Jones' "Night Life," KPRO, Riverside, September 11, 1995.

  [149]Audrie McCullogh. KCRW, Los Angeles, June 16, 1993.

  Linklocket, dangling from her neck. Sometimes it made me hurt. Often it made me angry.

  She once told me it was valuable. That thought never crossed my mind. Even today I won't consider its monetary worth. I'm living off of tuna, rice and water, losing pounds faster than Lloyd's of London, but I'd sell body parts before I'd consider taking cash for this relic.

  When my mother died the locket was the only thing she left me. There's an engraving on the back. It's from my father319: "My heart for you, my love—March 5, 1966"—practically prophetic. For a long time, I didn't flip the latch. I'm not sure why. Maybe I was afraid what I'd find inside. I think I expected it to be empty. It wasn't. When I finally did crack the hinge, I discovered the carefully folded love letter disguised as a thank you letter, scrawled in the hand of an eleven year old boy.

  It's a letter I wrote.

  The very first one my mother ever received from the son she left when he was only seven. It's also the only one she saved. 319Mr. Truant is referring here to his biological father not Raymond, his foster father. — Ed.

  320Covered in greater detail in Chapters XVII and XIX.

  [151]"With his nightcaps and the tatters of his dressing-gown he patches up the gaps in the structure of the universe"—which he quoted in full to his wife, as well as alluded to in chapter Six of The Interpretation of Dreams and in a letter to Jung dated February 25, 1908.323

  [152]Melissa Schemell in her book Absent Identification (London: Emunah Publishing Group, 1995), p. 52. discusses sexual modes of recognition
:

  The house as vagina: The adolescent boy's primary identification lies with the mother. The subsequent realization that he is unlike her (he has a penis; she doesn't; he is different) results in an intense feeling of displacement and loss. The boy must seek out a new identity (the father) . . . Navidson explores that loss, that which he first identified with: the vagina, the womb, the mother.

  Eric Keplard's Maternal Intrusions (Portland: Nescience Press, 1995), p. 139, also speaks of that place as something motherly, only his reading is far more historical than Schemel's: "Navidson's house is an incarnation of his own mother. In other words: absent. It represents the unresolved Oedipal drama which continually intrudes on his relationship with Karen." That said it would be unfair not to mention Tad Exler's book Our Father (Iowa City: Pavernockumest Press. 1996) which rejects "the over-enthusiastic parallels with motherdom" in favor of "narcissism's paternal darkness."

  Linkaccount her daisy sunglasses, her tattoos, the dollars and fives she culls while draped around some silver pole hidden in some dark room in the shadow of the airport. A place I had still not dared to visit. I had never even asked her the name of her three year old. I had never even asked her for her real name—not Thumper, not Thumper at all, but something entirely else—which I suddenly resolved to find out, to ask both questions right then and there, to start finding out who she really was, see if it was possible to mean something to her, see if it was possible she could mean something to me, a whole slew of question marks I was prepared to follow through on, which was exactly when the phone went dead.