Weblog entry:
- No words of my own
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Both young ladies happen to be silver stars on Slothrop’s map. He must’ve been feeling silvery both times shiny, jingling. The stars he pastes up are colored only to go with how he feels that day, blue on up to golden. Never to rank a single one how can he? Nobody sees the map but Tantivy, and Christ they’re all beautiful…in leaf or flower around his wintering city, in teashops, in the queues babushkaed and coatwrapped, sighing, sneezing, all lisle legs on the curbstones, hitch-hiking, typing or filing with pompadours sprouting yellow pencils, he finds them dames, tomatoes, sweater girls yes it is a little obsessive maybe but…
I know there is wilde love and joy enough in the world,
preached Thomas Hooker,as there are wilde Thyme, and other herbes; but we would have garden love, and garden joy, of Gods owne planting.
How Slothrop’s garden grows. Teems with virgin’s-bower, with forget-me-nots, with rue and all over the place, purple and yellow as hickeys, a prevalence of love-in-idleness.He likes to tell them about fireflies. English girls don’t know about fireflies, which is about all Slothrop knows for sure about English girls.
Thomas Pynchon, Gravity’s Rainbow
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