After three series focusing on a central author, Short Stop is taking a bit of a turn for the next run. Sometime last year, I found a copy of “The Vintage Book of Amnesia” that was compiled and edited by Jonathan Lethem. The theme is simple. He looks at authors throughout time and explores how they approach the subject of memory. Whereas previous series focused on exploring a writer finding their voice, I thought that it would be interesting to try and find something more thematic across the centuries. It’s a lengthy ordeal and one that will probably have more highs and lows than ever before. The hope though is finding a few diamonds in the rough that are worth committing to memory.
Listen, I don’t think that this anthology is all that spectacular. Seeing as I’m nearly a third of the way through, I can understand why this hasn’t become the new gold standard for fiction about memory loss. It’s honestly exhausting to have over half the stories so far be some extensions of longer works that, without context, are fairly underwhelming. I’m sure there’s more than enough short stories out there to have had a substantial experience that didn’t involve outside research. However, as I tackle Walker Percy’s “The Second Coming,” I have reached a new level of frustration.
It's one thing to pull a chapter out of a novel. It’s understandable that Lethem wants to put these authors’ best foot forward and, to his credit, mostly does. However, the issue with “The Second Coming” is that I was so baffled coming out the other side that my only reaction was to pray that somebody had written a thorough analysis about it. I’ve about had it with excerpts that are mostly ambiguous and don’t enhance my understanding of the greater text. While Percy has a lot to piece through, my beef with Lethem is serious here.
This is because “The Second Coming” is a more than fitting title. Not only is this chapter pulled from a book, but it’s in a sequel to another Percy book. While I don’t think that alters the text all that terribly, it’s still ponderous to wonder why he keeps doing this. From what I can gather, the chapter’s protagonist isn’t the novel’s lead, so at least that allows for some familiarity in the introduction. However, I’m ultimately left with two questions that Percy doesn’t answer in this particular chapter and I assume fits it better into a gradual reveal: who are these people and why do I care that this woman is tending to a man who fell from a cave?
To be honest, the geography of this story makes no sense to me. In order for the events to comply, the house needs to be built alongside a cliff that leads to the cave. The inciting incident features a man stumbling out of a cave and through a greenhouse. Unless I’m misunderstanding the trajectory with which this happened, the action has this surreal undertone that is already filling the reader with doubt. It makes no sense that somebody would fall through a greenhouse like this. While I think that’s part of the point of the larger text, I think the overall characterization is even more confusion.
To Percy’s credit, I do like how he frames the events. Following said collapse, the woman is described as being a “problem solver.” He spends a page roughly describing the nature by which she comes to play a nurse, believing that everything has reason. She is maternal and will hopefully mend the wounds. Even as there’s an allegory about people falling down wells, the reader gets the sense that she wants everything to return to normal as quickly as possible.
Given how little time is spent with the man, I’m waiting for some greater mystery to unravel. Maybe I’m waiting for the man’s identity to be unveiled in these coy peripheral details that will reveal something sinister. Maybe she has stopped something dastardly from happening, or even revived a problem by keeping him alive. Something that exists beyond these pages keeps the reader guessing, though I’m not sure how effective it is when Percy is more interested in developing the woman’s identity.
What can be gathered from the first few pages is that he is very homely. Whether it’s just to appease conventions or instinctiveness, she is the caring type. Her greenhouse suggests that she has some wealth, or at least an agricultural habit that keeps her peaceful. She’s moving a stove through the greenhouse, suggesting that things are changing in the house, like possibly a change of ownership. However, it’s not clear who she is and what the greater relationship she has to the house and village around her. Is she a recluse? Maybe the eccentric undertones are coincidental, and this is just an anxious woman trying to avoid hurdles.
There are some exchanges of dialogue that give a sense of difference between these two people. The woman is a bit more innocent than the man. If anything, he’s fond of giving roundabout answers. There’s a compensation for what he’s doing crashing through a greenhouse. It could be considered comical, if just because he believes he’s impressive while she notices that he’s lacking anything of greater merit. Not only is his arm broken, but he’s incapable of doing anything greater. Odds are his job of “hoisting” isn’t going to get done anytime soon.
Even as she goes into town to collect medication for him, she finds herself struggling to make sense of this man. He doesn’t have a name. He’s an enigma that seems to be skidding through town without any sense of staying. This is a minor inconvenience to him.
Similarly, discussion of her pet comes up. Given that they’re injured, the woman becomes suspect of potentially hurting them for some perverse sense of comfort. Even as she reads poetry about love and uses comforting acts, there is a sense that she is holding onto something that she is scared to lose. Percy doesn’t exactly write her as creepy, and yet it’s hard not to wonder what is going on.
Part of it is the sense that she needs to repair the greenhouse. It’s evident that she is alone and struggling to keep everything in place. Without an extra set of hands to move the stove, she works slowly and incompetently to put everything into place. The idea of the man having millions entices her because she could use it for repairs and other personal wants. However, she has also taken care of him to the extent of washing his clothes and know that something is up. He’s not being totally honest. As a problem solver, she takes the mystery as something to work through until the answer stares her in the face.
It isn’t until the final exchange with Dr. Battle that things begin to seem off. For starters, the doctor’s apprehension to her description of his injury suggests something is aloof even within their dynamic. He wonders why they live in a greenhouse. Not only that but suggests that the man has brain lesions that should’ve stopped him from taking such physical risks. The doubt of an outside figure allows the reader to assume that sometimes characters can be too close to a problem to even begin to solve it. As he claims, it’s a “matter of confidence” that is keeping them from finding any greater meaning. Maybe the man is too shy to want to discuss his personal failures. Given that she’s described as talking in a “rehearsed” nature also suggests that a level of truthfulness is missing from these pages, so telling “the rascal” is going to result in honesty not seen in the previous pages.
To all this I ask… what does this have to do with memory as a concept? I’m not doubting that Percy has written a real page turner. His prose has a fluidity that keeps you invested, wondering how every piece connects. However, without context the early stretch feels absent of conflict and even misdirects the reader. Those wanting answers in who the man is will have some idea by the final page, but it’s not a chapter that gives itself over. Given the larger title, I couldn’t even tell you what makes this “The Second Coming” since I don’t think these characters have met before.
From what I can gather from plot summaries, the woman is a supporting role in the man’s story. That may be why she comes across very clear but also at times feels indirectly connected to the paragraph structure. There’s likely clues to the larger narrative taking root here that I am never going to piece together. With that said, Percy has designed the story with an interesting plot device where the man is so entrenched in his past that he’s self-reflective. Meanwhile, the woman is forward-thinking, never thinking of her past. The dynamic has promise, but I don’t know that this exchange is necessarily presenting it in an accessible enough way that I care.
At most, this is simply a story of dishonesty. I do think that certain areas of the text can reflect how the man feels disconnected from the future. He’s too stubborn to be remotely optimistic. He spends so much time worrying about what happened to him that he never thinks of the next step. Because of this, the woman has no choice but to think of how to help the man get better and move on with his life.
I am unsure if this is a proper assessment of the text, but it wasn’t the most compelling few pages that I’ve read. It’s definitely one of the biggest victims of excerpting that Lethem has used. There’s not enough time to balance technique with character development in a way that stands away from its larger text. It has some fun ideas, but I don’t know how it deals with memory as a concept other than our perception is often impacted by what others tell us. Is that a good enough excuse for including it? I don’t think so.
Again, I don’t want to suggest that Percy is a bad writer. Very little of this seems poorly written. I am just tired of reading these selections and feeling like the bottom has been taken out. It all trickles away until nothing is left without an idea of what this text means outside of the bigger picture. This may not be as terrible as “Dream Scenario,” but it fails to work as a vivid portrait of people whose paths cross in a way that matters. They sound interesting in minor contexts, but otherwise I have to wonder what the point is. I’m sure that I missed it. Then again, I was left with more questions than answers, and I’m tired of having that with every other story.
Coming Up Next: Jorge Luis Borges’ “Funes, His Memory”
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