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Walker Percy and the Ivory-billed Woodpecker
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Jeffrey Davis
Apr 29, 2005, 10:01:32 AM4/29/05
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The discovery of the ivory billed woodpecker sent me back to read some Love
in the Ruins. I can't tell you all how much I love that book.
Excerpts from the first few pages
*************
"Now in these dread latter days of the old violent beloved U.S.A. and of the Christ-forgetting Christ-haunted death-dealing Western world I came to myself in a grove of young pines and the question came to me: has it happend at last.
Two more hours should tell the story. One way or the other. Either I am right and a catastrophe will occur or I'm crazy. In either case the outlook is not so good.
It is still hot as midafternoon. The sky is a clear rinsed cobalt after the rain. Wet pine growth reflects the sunlight like steel knitting needles. The grove steams and smells of turpentine. Far away the thunderhead, traveling fast, humps over the horizon like a troll. Directly above, a hawk balances on a column of air rising from the concrete geometry of the cloverleaf. Not a breath stirs.
The young pine I am sitting against has a tumor and has bowed to fit my back. I am sweating and broken out in hives from drinking gin fizzes but otherwise quite comfortable. This spot, on the lower reaches of the southwest cusp, was chosen carefully. From it I command three directions of the interstates and by leaning over the lip of the culvert can look through to the fourth, eastern approach.
Traffic is light, an occasional milk tanker and produce trailer.
The hawk slants off in a long flat glide toward the swamp. From the angle of its wings one can tell it is a marsh hawk.
One of the roof times of the motel falls and breaks on the concrete.
These are bad times.
Principalities and powers are everywhere victorious. Wickedness flourishes in high places.
There is a clearer and more present danger, however. For I have reason to believe that within the next two hours and unprecedented fallout of noxious particles will settle hereabouts and perhaps in other places as well. It is a catastrophe whose cause and effects -- and prevention -- are known only to me. The effects of the evil particles are psychic rather than physical. They do not burn the skin and rot the marrow; rather do they inflame and worsen the secret ills of the spirit and rive the very self from itself. If a man is already prone to anger, he'll go mad with rage. If he lives affrighted, he will quake with terror. If he's already abstracted from himself, he'll be sundered from himself and roam the world like Ishmael.
**
Our Catholic church here split into three pieces. (1) the American Catholic Church whose new Rome is Cicero, Illinois; (2) the Dutch schismatics who believe in relevance but not God; (3) the Roman Catholic remnant, a tiny scattered flock with no place to go.
The American Catholic Chuch, which emphasizes property rights and the integrity of neighborhoods, retained the Latin mass and plays The Star Spangled Banner at the elevation.
The Dutch schismatics in this area comprise several priests and nuns who left Rome to get married. They threw in with the Dutch schismatic Catholics. Now several divorced priests and nuns are importuning the Dutch cardinal to allow them to remarry.
The Roman Catholics hereabouts are scattered and demoralized. The one priest, an obscure curate, who remained faithful to Rome, could not support himself and had to hire out as a fire-watcher. It is his job to climb the fire tower by night and watch for brushfires below and for signs and portents in the skies.
I, for example, am a Roman Catholic, albeit a bad one. I believe in the Holy Catholic Apostolic and Roman Church, in God the Father, in the election of the Jews, in Jesus Christ His Son our Lord, who founded the Church on Peter his first vicar, which will last until the end of the world. Some years ago, however, I stopped eating Christ in Communion, stopped going to mass, and have since fallen into a disorderly life. I believe in God and the whole business but I love women best, music and science next, whiskey next, God fourth, and my fellowman hardly at all. Generally, I do as I please. A man, wrote John, who says he believes in God and does not keep his commandments is a liar. If John is right, then I am a liar. Nevertheless, I still believe.
****************
The book is subtitled: The Adventures of a Bad Catholic at a Time Near the End of the World. It came out in 1971 and was Percy's 3rd novel. The Moviegoer, his first, won the National Book Award and made his reputation. His second, The Last Gentleman, almost scuttled it, but Love in the Ruins was such a big lovely joke book that he never left public (aka the non-genre novel reading public) awareness after that.
I picked it up when it came out in paperback and immediately read and re-read it to tatters. I'm on my third copy, but the 2nd copy wasn't as badly damaged as the first. I just wanted a fair copy to keep and one to lend. Part of the reason is that I'd never read another voice that sounds so much like my inner voice. (It could be that I read the novel young enough that the accents and rhythms of the book became my own out of mimicry. But that's probably not it.) Part of it is the way the sentences sneak up on seriousness. He mixes jargon -- scientific, religious, political -- with slang and conversational words and rhythms more naturally than anyone I can think of. I love the way he has a kit-like ensemble of concerns. His pine trees, birds, gin fizzes recur through the book like characters. They're more than props. It's as though if you could learn to notice pine trees and to like gin fizzes then you'd be on to something important. Percy's mix of slang and scientific jargon help keep his philosophical concerns from abstraction: the way wet pine growth reflects sunlight, the way gin fizzes futz the brain and slit the eyes, the way a girl stands when she handwashes her stockings. Their singularity is the issue: why do we notice and why should we notice such things? Percy, by virtue of being droll and observant and humane, involves us in his obsessions in ways most other authors either wouldn't dare to or would be incapable of.
The ivory-billed woodpecker shows up in Love in the Ruins from time to time. Percy (or his hero) pegged the last observation around the time of WWI -- I read today that it was last seen around WW2 -- and its beauty and obscurity serves as a metaphor for the hidden Christ.
Excerpts from the first few pages
*************
"Now in these dread latter days of the old violent beloved U.S.A. and of the Christ-forgetting Christ-haunted death-dealing Western world I came to myself in a grove of young pines and the question came to me: has it happend at last.
Two more hours should tell the story. One way or the other. Either I am right and a catastrophe will occur or I'm crazy. In either case the outlook is not so good.
It is still hot as midafternoon. The sky is a clear rinsed cobalt after the rain. Wet pine growth reflects the sunlight like steel knitting needles. The grove steams and smells of turpentine. Far away the thunderhead, traveling fast, humps over the horizon like a troll. Directly above, a hawk balances on a column of air rising from the concrete geometry of the cloverleaf. Not a breath stirs.
The young pine I am sitting against has a tumor and has bowed to fit my back. I am sweating and broken out in hives from drinking gin fizzes but otherwise quite comfortable. This spot, on the lower reaches of the southwest cusp, was chosen carefully. From it I command three directions of the interstates and by leaning over the lip of the culvert can look through to the fourth, eastern approach.
Traffic is light, an occasional milk tanker and produce trailer.
The hawk slants off in a long flat glide toward the swamp. From the angle of its wings one can tell it is a marsh hawk.
One of the roof times of the motel falls and breaks on the concrete.
These are bad times.
Principalities and powers are everywhere victorious. Wickedness flourishes in high places.
There is a clearer and more present danger, however. For I have reason to believe that within the next two hours and unprecedented fallout of noxious particles will settle hereabouts and perhaps in other places as well. It is a catastrophe whose cause and effects -- and prevention -- are known only to me. The effects of the evil particles are psychic rather than physical. They do not burn the skin and rot the marrow; rather do they inflame and worsen the secret ills of the spirit and rive the very self from itself. If a man is already prone to anger, he'll go mad with rage. If he lives affrighted, he will quake with terror. If he's already abstracted from himself, he'll be sundered from himself and roam the world like Ishmael.
**
Our Catholic church here split into three pieces. (1) the American Catholic Church whose new Rome is Cicero, Illinois; (2) the Dutch schismatics who believe in relevance but not God; (3) the Roman Catholic remnant, a tiny scattered flock with no place to go.
The American Catholic Chuch, which emphasizes property rights and the integrity of neighborhoods, retained the Latin mass and plays The Star Spangled Banner at the elevation.
The Dutch schismatics in this area comprise several priests and nuns who left Rome to get married. They threw in with the Dutch schismatic Catholics. Now several divorced priests and nuns are importuning the Dutch cardinal to allow them to remarry.
The Roman Catholics hereabouts are scattered and demoralized. The one priest, an obscure curate, who remained faithful to Rome, could not support himself and had to hire out as a fire-watcher. It is his job to climb the fire tower by night and watch for brushfires below and for signs and portents in the skies.
I, for example, am a Roman Catholic, albeit a bad one. I believe in the Holy Catholic Apostolic and Roman Church, in God the Father, in the election of the Jews, in Jesus Christ His Son our Lord, who founded the Church on Peter his first vicar, which will last until the end of the world. Some years ago, however, I stopped eating Christ in Communion, stopped going to mass, and have since fallen into a disorderly life. I believe in God and the whole business but I love women best, music and science next, whiskey next, God fourth, and my fellowman hardly at all. Generally, I do as I please. A man, wrote John, who says he believes in God and does not keep his commandments is a liar. If John is right, then I am a liar. Nevertheless, I still believe.
****************
The book is subtitled: The Adventures of a Bad Catholic at a Time Near the End of the World. It came out in 1971 and was Percy's 3rd novel. The Moviegoer, his first, won the National Book Award and made his reputation. His second, The Last Gentleman, almost scuttled it, but Love in the Ruins was such a big lovely joke book that he never left public (aka the non-genre novel reading public) awareness after that.
I picked it up when it came out in paperback and immediately read and re-read it to tatters. I'm on my third copy, but the 2nd copy wasn't as badly damaged as the first. I just wanted a fair copy to keep and one to lend. Part of the reason is that I'd never read another voice that sounds so much like my inner voice. (It could be that I read the novel young enough that the accents and rhythms of the book became my own out of mimicry. But that's probably not it.) Part of it is the way the sentences sneak up on seriousness. He mixes jargon -- scientific, religious, political -- with slang and conversational words and rhythms more naturally than anyone I can think of. I love the way he has a kit-like ensemble of concerns. His pine trees, birds, gin fizzes recur through the book like characters. They're more than props. It's as though if you could learn to notice pine trees and to like gin fizzes then you'd be on to something important. Percy's mix of slang and scientific jargon help keep his philosophical concerns from abstraction: the way wet pine growth reflects sunlight, the way gin fizzes futz the brain and slit the eyes, the way a girl stands when she handwashes her stockings. Their singularity is the issue: why do we notice and why should we notice such things? Percy, by virtue of being droll and observant and humane, involves us in his obsessions in ways most other authors either wouldn't dare to or would be incapable of.
The ivory-billed woodpecker shows up in Love in the Ruins from time to time. Percy (or his hero) pegged the last observation around the time of WWI -- I read today that it was last seen around WW2 -- and its beauty and obscurity serves as a metaphor for the hidden Christ.
Trevor Zion Bauknight
Apr 29, 2005, 2:13:02 PM4/29/05
to
In article <eb6bc$42723e3c$80a32844$94...@ALLTEL.NET>,
Jeffrey Davis <res0...@alltel.net> wrote:
Jeffrey Davis <res0...@alltel.net> wrote:
> The ivory-billed woodpecker shows up in _Love in the Ruins_ from time to
> time. Percy (or his hero) pegged the last observation around the time of
> WWI -- I read today that it was last seen around WW2 -- and its beauty
> and obscurity serves as a metaphor for the hidden Christ.
The Lord God Bird. They're still out there. I feel like heading up to
the Congaree Swamp for a little kayaking...see what I can see. :-)
--
Trev
"Every Democratic Senator is to the right of Kerry..including
Kucinich." - C. Beauchamp
Unclaimed Mysteries
Apr 29, 2005, 8:02:31 PM4/29/05
to
Trevor Zion Bauknight wrote:
> In article <eb6bc$42723e3c$80a32844$94...@ALLTEL.NET>,
> Jeffrey Davis <res0...@alltel.net> wrote:
>
>
>>The ivory-billed woodpecker shows up in _Love in the Ruins_ from time to
>>time. Percy (or his hero) pegged the last observation around the time of
>>WWI -- I read today that it was last seen around WW2 -- and its beauty
>>and obscurity serves as a metaphor for the hidden Christ.
>
>
> The Lord God Bird. They're still out there. I feel like heading up to
> the Congaree Swamp for a little kayaking...see what I can see. :-)
>
> In article <eb6bc$42723e3c$80a32844$94...@ALLTEL.NET>,
> Jeffrey Davis <res0...@alltel.net> wrote:
>
>
>>The ivory-billed woodpecker shows up in _Love in the Ruins_ from time to
>>time. Percy (or his hero) pegged the last observation around the time of
>>WWI -- I read today that it was last seen around WW2 -- and its beauty
>>and obscurity serves as a metaphor for the hidden Christ.
>
>
> The Lord God Bird. They're still out there. I feel like heading up to
> the Congaree Swamp for a little kayaking...see what I can see. :-)
>
I PREDICT: Within 0.166667 years that bird will be the centerpiece of a
politician's rhetoric claiming that liberal "envirowackos" "care more
about a woodpecker than people's jobs."
--
It Came From C. L. Smith's Unclaimed Mysteries.
http://www.unclaimedmysteries.net
Dan Bretta
Apr 29, 2005, 9:21:49 PM4/29/05
to
Jeffrey Davis wrote:
> The discovery of the ivory billed woodpecker sent me back to read
some
>
I'm amazed that a bird that large and with a very distinctive call can
go 60 years without being seen by a birdwatcher.
dan
Jeffrey Davis
Apr 30, 2005, 12:45:40 AM4/30/05
to
That's one shy bird.
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