Oh. *coughs* Uh, hi! We're posting these Sunday nights now, right? I'm pretty sure I heard that somewhere.
Sorry for pulling a Chip, you guys. It's (two days past) Corrections time again! Thanks, Alley, for bringing us together, because I'm pretty sure we're going to need the support for this section. There are spoilers, herein, if such a book can be spoiled.
My first note is "Gary seems super fun."
As he entered the darkroom, he estimated that his levels of Neurofactor 3 (i.e., serotonin: a very, very important factor) were posting seven-day or even thirty-day highs, that his Factor 2 and Factor 7 levels were likewise outperforming expectations, and that his Factor 1 had rebounded from an early-morning slump related to the glass of Armagnac he'd drunk at bedtime.
|Too bored to properly throw myself down the stairs|
Does not make for stimulating narration.
I'm still loving Denise because she gave Jonah Prince Caspian. And Jonah makes me want to WEEP because he is clearly the best person in the whole of the extended family, and they are going to ruin him. In the meantime, little buddy, keep being right about which Narnia book is the best.
|(IT'S THIS ONE.)|
Franzen really digs in on the "look at all the reasons I named this book as such" in this section, the first instance I noticed being a kind of theme for the book: "But his entire life was set up as a correction of his father's life." And then there's Correcktall and other stuff and THERE'S NO TIME TO LIST THEM. DID I MENTION HOW LATE THIS POST IS?
Gary is dealing with some weeeird investor guys. Pudge Portleigh? Really? Why not just Fatty McFatfat? Daffy? Dick Hevy?
|It's probably a metaphor for something, but I don't know what.|
(Different scene. Doesn't matter.)
Then other stuff and then, let's get to why we're really here: Alfred, on the cruise, hallucinating a talking, taunting turd.
|One of the few things in this world that warrants|
the legendary quadruple take.
So, OK, do we want to analyze this scene and work out why Alfred's hallucination would take the form of a poop (his strong needs for order and propriety raging against his gradual yet complete loss of control - over his children, his wife, his body), or do we wanna just throw a
The fuck bro? The fuck bro.
Also I guess maybe Alfred's dead now. SEE YOU NEXT FRIDAY, FOLKS!