The Explanation
(for those who require one)

And, of course, that is what all of this is -- all of this: the one song, ever changing, ever reincarnated, that speaks somehow from and to and for that which is ineffable within us and without us, that is both prayer and deliverance, folly and wisdom, that inspires us to dance or smile or simply to go on, senselessly, incomprehensibly, beatifically, in the face of mortality and the truth that our lives are more ill-writ, ill-rhymed and fleeting than any song, except perhaps those songs -- that song, endlesly reincarnated -- born of that truth, be it the moon and June of that truth, or the wordless blue moan, or the rotgut or the elegant poetry of it. That nameless black-hulled ship of Ulysses, that long black train, that Terraplane, that mystery train, that Rocket '88', that Buick 6 -- same journey, same miracle, same end and endlessness."
-- Nick Tosches, Where Dead Voices Gather

Heroes of American Literature #20

Sinclair Lewis, lounging.


Tempest said...

A Titan.

Somebody help me here-do we have anyone that comes close today?

plainwater said...

We don't even have anyone who can lounge like that anymore. I'm usually too hopped up on caffeine to even try.

Tommy O'C said...

Portrait of a great author--and a major drunk.

H. P. L. said...

I just read Free Air, I found an old paperback in a flea market. It was my first exposure to Lewis' writing. Incredibly satisfying.

Brooks said...

I'm with plainwater - nobody lounges in three piece suits anymore, particularly while smoking on fancy furniture.