Surprise

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

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• From In the Unlikely Event (2015)

  Strasser, who was such a good provider they lived in South Orange, and who had bought Frekki a yellow Cadillac and a big diamond ring? She followed Frekki to the table. Suddenly, like a cat with its whiskers stiff, she knew this was not Dr. J. J. Strasser. Dr. J. J. Strasser would be older, she thought. He wouldn’t look so much like Frekki, with thick hair and a toothy smile. He stood and helped Miri off with her coat, draping it over the back of her chair. When they were all seated, with their napkins on their laps, Frekki said, “Miri, this is my brother…” Before Frekki could get out the rest, before she could say his name, Miri said, “I know who you are. You’re Mike Monsky.” He said, “Yes.” Frekki added, “Your father.” He’s not my father, Miri thought. He doesn’t even know me. Her body was telling her to flee. “Excuse me,” she said, pushing back her chair and running, coming this close to colliding with a waitress delivering ice cream sundaes to some happy family. Another waitress pointed her in the direction of the ladies’ room. Inside were little girls, teenage girls, their mothers, their grandmothers. She splashed her face with water at the sink. Someone asked, “Are you all right, dear? Do you need help?” She waved her away. No, she didn’t need help. And no, she wasn’t all right. But she was going to pretend she was. She was not going to throw up in a stall in the ladies’ room of Gruning’s on the Hill, with all these fancy mothers and daughters watching and listening. She breathed through her nose the way Natalie did when she felt nauseous, which was often. That was better. She applied Pixie Pink lipstick. She patted down her hair, then fluffed it back up. She hated her new haircut. She’d already decided to grow it out and Mason hadn’t even seen it. The door to the ladies’ room opened. “Hi,” Frekki said to her. “Everything okay?” “You planned this,” Miri said. “You tricked me.” Two women blotting their lipstick glanced over at them. Frekki gave them a weak smile. Miri knew she could make a big scene and embarrass Frekki. Maybe she would. “I planned the meeting here, yes.” Miri raised her voice. “The whole day was a lie!” What did she care? There was nobody here who knew her or her family but there might be somebody who knew the great Frekki Strasser or her doctor husband. Frekki shepherded her away from the sinks. “I wish you wouldn’t look at it that way.” “How should I look at it?” “As an opportunity. I thought you should meet your father and that he should meet you.” That stopped Miri for a moment. Then she turned and marched out of the ladies’ room, shoulders back, head high, as if she were the Queen of Posture, and back to the table. Back to Mike Monsky. Her so-called father.

• From The Annotated Lolita (1991)

  We were coming out of some office building one morning, with her papers almost in order, when Valeria, as she waddled by my side, began to shake her poodle head vigorously without saying a word. I let her go on for a while and then asked if she thought she had something inside. She answered (I translate from her French which was, I imagine, a translation in its turn of some Slavic platitude): “There is another man in my life.”

• From The Annotated Lolita (1991)

  I just managed to jerk my knee out of the range of a sketchy tap—one of her acquired gestures. She asked me not to be dense. The past was the past. I had been a good father, she guessed—granting me that. Proceed, Dolly Schiller. Well, did I know that he had known her mother? That he was practically an old friend? That he had visited with his uncle in Ramsdale?—oh, years ago—and spoken at Mother’s club, and had tugged and pulled her, Dolly, by her bare arm onto his lap in front of everybody, and kissed her face, she was ten and furious with him? Did I know he had seen me and her at the inn where he was writing the very play she was to rehearse in Beardsley, two years later? Did I know—It had been horrid of her to sidetrack me into believing that Clare was an old female, maybe a relative of his or a sometime lifemate—and oh, what a close shave it had been when the Wace Journal carried his picture. The Briceland Gazette had not. Yes, very amusing. Yes, she said, this world was just one gag after another, if somebody wrote up her life nobody would ever believe it. At this point, there came brisk homey sounds from the kitchen into which Dick and Bill had lumbered in quest of beer. Through the doorway they noticed the visitor, and Dick entered the parlor. “Dick, this is my Dad!” cried Dolly in a resounding violent voice that struck me as totally strange, and new, and cheerful, and old, and sad, because the young fellow, veteran of a remote war, was hard of hearing. Arctic blue eyes, black hair, ruddy cheeks, unshaven chin. We shook hands. Discreet Bill, who evidently took pride in working wonders with one hand, brought in the beer cans he had opened. Wanted to withdraw. The exquisite courtesy of simple folks. Was made to stay. A beer ad. In point of fact, I preferred it that way, and so did the Schillers. I switched to the jittery rocker. Avidly munching, Dolly plied me with marshmallows and potato chips. The men looked at her fragile, frileux, diminutive, old-world, youngish but sickly, father in velvet coat and beige vest, maybe a viscount.

• From The Swimming-Pool Library (1988)

  I realised who it was, that bloke I was once rather worked up about at the Corry and you were horrid about, very thin but quite muscled and somehow incredibly sexy.’ Out of an unaccustomed sense of decency I had never told James about the afternoon I had had this boy, Colin, had even cut him when I ran into him at the Club with James a week or two later. ‘I think I know the one,’ I said. ‘He was what I really wanted, though the look he gave me wasn’t very encouraging. And then, naturally, having seen what I wanted I came over all incapable, and faffed around at the bar, and then I went to the loo. But when I finally left the pub, it must have been about five minutes later, beginning to feel a bit miz, there he was outside, leaning against the pillar at the corner, one foot raised behind him—very rent-looking, actually, which should have made me wonder, but I found I was talking to him. Really tat stuff about haven’t I seen you at the Corry et cetera, but I know you’ve told me it doesn’t matter what you say as long as you say something. In spite of my earlier doubts, he was amazingly keen and responsive, said where shall we go, I was completely practical and said I had a car just round the corner, we could go to my flat, and suddenly the whole thing had just taken off and I didn’t feel apprehensive at all, just happy, almost, and sexy.’ ‘Fantastic,’ I said. ‘Really good.’ I hadn’t liked him much myself but I even felt a shade possessive now about him, and then decided to be generous, and wished James well with him. ‘Anyway, we got in the car, put on our seatbelts; I made a little grab for him, which he didn’t seem to mind—I just had to get a feel of it, you know. Then he calmly reaches in his jacket pocket, as it might be for a fag, and hoiks out this kind of fob, and says, very pleased with himself indeed, “You might as well drive round to the station, I’m a police officer.” ’ I was quite speechless and James was shaking from the recollection and from having brought off his story. I had been with him all the way at a nodding, trainer’s distance and then he had knocked me out. But it wasn’t quite over. ‘I didn’t say a word, but started the car, and of course just as I did so my bleep went. Then I saw the evening was inevitable in a different way, and the irony was all working overtime in that hideous way it can do. So it was my turn to grope in my breast pocket for my little professional accoutrement.

• From The Annotated Lolita (1991)

  24The elms and the poplars were turning their ruffled backs to a sudden onslaught of wind, and a black thunderhead loomed above Ramsdale’s white church tower when I looked around me for the last time. For unknown adventures I was leaving the livid house where I had rented a room only ten weeks before. The shades—thrifty, practical bamboo shades—were already down. On porches or in the house their rich textures lend modern drama. The house of heaven must seem pretty bare after that. A raindrop fell on my knuckles. I went back into the house for something or other while John was putting my bags into the car, and then a funny thing happened. I do not know if in these tragic notes I have sufficiently stressed the peculiar “sending” effect that the writer’s good looks—pseudo Celtic, attractively simian, boyishly manly—had on women of every age and environment. Of course, such announcements made in the first person may sound ridiculous. But every once in a while I have to remind the reader of my appearance much as a professional novelist, who has given a character of his some mannerism or a dog, has to go on producing that dog or that mannerism every time the character crops up in the course of the book. There may be more to it in the present case. My gloomy good looks should be kept in the mind’s eye if my story is to be properly understood. Pubescent Lo swooned to Humbert’s charm as she did to hiccuppy music; adult Lotte loved me with a mature, possessive passion that I now deplore and respect more than I care to say. Jean Farlow, who was thirty-one and absolutely neurotic, had also apparently developed a strong liking for me. She was handsome in a carved-Indian sort of way, with a burnt sienna complexion. Her lips were like large crimson polyps, and when she emitted her special barking laugh, she showed large dull teeth and pale gums. She was very tall, wore either slacks with sandals or billowing skirts with ballet slippers, drank any strong liquor in any amount, had had two miscarriages, wrote stories about animals, painted, as the reader knows, lakescapes, was already nursing the cancer that was to kill her at thirty-three, and was hopelessly unattractive to me. Judge then of my alarm when a few seconds before I left (she and I stood in the hallway) Jean, with her always trembling fingers, took me by the temples, and, tears in her bright blue eyes, attempted, unsuccessfully, to glue herself to my lips. “Take care of yourself,” she said, “kiss your daughter for me.” A clap of thunder reverberated throughout the house, and she added: “Perhaps, somewhere, some day, at a less miserable time, we may see each other again” (Jean, whatever, wherever you are, in minus time-space or plus soul-time, forgive me all this, parenthesis included).

• From The Genius of Judy: How Judy Blume Rewrote Childhood for All of Us (2023)

  To protect themselves they created an entirely new division and released the novel as Blume’s “first book for adults.” “Labeling it an adult book… was our way of saying that it didn’t belong on children’s shelves,” Jackson said years later, “and that we were not recommending this for every fourth grader.” Judy herself disagreed with that decision. She told School Library Journal that seeing the book described that way right on the hardcover flap came as a “shock.” By then, Judy had clout and employees at Bradbury were told to do whatever it took to keep her happy. “Dick told me, ‘Judy Blume is our big author, Judy Blume is the person who keeps this business going, basically,’ ” Peter Silsbee remembered. “She kept the lights on.” But in this case, Jackson did what he thought was best to keep himself and his star writer out of hot water. Blume had become wildly successful, thanks in part to a paperback deal with Dell. “The way Dick told the story was, they published her first books, all in hardcover, but then when they went to paperback… that’s when they really got into the hands of kids,” Silsbee said. A paperback at the time cost around $1.75, which was quite a bit less than the hardcovers. “They were on racks in the drug store. And that was it, it was all word of mouth. Like one kid would read it and pass it to their friend, pass it to their friend, and pretty soon you had this huge fan base.” That huge fan base was ravenous for books by Blume. In August 1976, the New York Times reported that Dell had printed over 1.75 million copies of her titles, calling her “a kind of heroine to the kids who read and re-read her books.” She was a complicated figure for parents, who supported their kids in reading but weren’t always in love with Blume’s subject matter. The paper of record’s review of Forever , which had run the previous winter, called the novel “a convincing date-by-date account of first love.” It made no mention of the various sex scenes, but rumors of the book’s contents traveled swiftly from kid to kid, mother to mother. “Rest assured the kids manage to wangle copies of ‘Forever,’ ” the Times wrote. The trade magazines panned the novel. School Library Journal hated it, saying, “Obviously it’s not a quality book, but that fact won’t bother the many girls who will read it.” Kirkus was also dismissive. “Cath [sic] and Michael fall in love when both are high school seniors, and Blume leads up to It date by date and almost inch by inch (hand over sweater, hand under skirt),” the reviewer writes. “As usual with this immensely popular author, Forever has a lot of easy, empathic verity and very little heft.” Forever had at least one powerful ally in its corner.

• From The Genius of Judy: How Judy Blume Rewrote Childhood for All of Us (2023)

  “Ready to do what must be done to ensure happiness for ourselves, our children, and our children’s children.” That afternoon, the country’s fortieth president made his aims clear: “to reawaken this industrial giant, to get government back within its means, and to lighten our punitive tax burden.” This approach aligned with the philosophy of his Republican supporters; Reagan’s suggestion that “with God’s help we can and will resolve the problems which now confront us” called out to the evangelical Christians who helped put him in office. The government’s priorities were shifting dramatically from the liberal approach of Reagan’s predecessor, President Jimmy Carter. Judy Blume would later cite this as the day that everything changed. “When we elected Ronald Reagan and the conservatives decided that they would decide not just what their children would read but what all children would read, it went crazy,” Blume told the Guardian in 2014, of the challenges against her books that began in the early 1980s. “My feeling in the beginning was wait, this is America: we don’t have censorship, we have, you know, freedom to read, freedom to write, freedom of the press, we don’t do this, we don’t ban books. But then they did.” The tide against her turned practically “overnight,” as she explained while she was on tour promoting In the Unlikely Event . And it wasn’t just Blume. In December 1981, almost exactly a year after Reagan ascended to office, the New York Times reported that challenges against books had “shot up” since the late 1970s. Moreover, instead of requesting that access to certain books be restricted, complainants insisted that titles should be removed from public libraries altogether. “The reason would-be censors give most often is that a book is unsuitable for minors because of its vulgarity or its descriptions of sexual behavior,” the Times explained. “But the censors also condemn the depiction of unorthodox family arrangements, sexual explicitness even in a biological context, speculation about Christ, unflattering portraits of American authority, criticisms of business and corporate practices, and radical political ideas.” Among the books being called out were Blume’s novels—the Times described her provocatively as “a best-selling author of sexually explicit books for children and young adults”—as well as Portnoy’s Complaint , Avery Corman’s 1977 divorce novel Kramer vs. Kramer , Our Bodies Ourselves , and Stuart Little , E. B. White’s adventure starring a natty mouse. The article attributed the rise in book challenges to conservative organizations such as the Heritage Foundation, Phyllis Schlafly’s Eagle Forum, and the Moral Majority, which Jerry Falwell Sr. had recently founded in 1979. These groups were empowered by Reagan’s election, and they were efficient. Once leaders set their sights on certain titles, they were able to drum up passions among their supporters and encourage them to voice their grievances. Peter Silsbee recalled being on the receiving end of written complaints aimed at Bradbury about Judy’s work.

• From In the Unlikely Event (2015)

  Always waiting for the next disaster? She walked home alone, forgetting that Irene had gone to New York for the day with Ben Sapphire. She would have welcomed Irene’s warm embrace. Instead, she headed upstairs to her room, where she would lie on her bed with the kaleidoscope, losing herself in its beautiful patterns and colors. Upstairs, something felt wrong. Rusty’s bedroom door was closed and it sounded as if she was sick. Rusty had never missed a day of work in her life—but now she was mewling. “Mom…” Miri opened the door to Rusty’s room and wasn’t sure at first what she was seeing. Rusty looked over the shoulder of whoever was on top of her. “Ohmygod, Miri!” Miri couldn’t breathe, let alone speak. A man, naked, with a white backside, turned to look at her and Miri let out one cry, then covered her mouth with her hand and ran down the stairs, out of the house, up the street. That was Dr. O on top of her mother, and he wasn’t checking her teeth. Then Rusty was running after her, a raincoat thrown over a black lace negligee. “Miri, wait!” Miri turned for a minute, in time to see Rusty trip over the negligee, too long for her raincoat to cover, her bare feet in her weekend moccasins. Miri didn’t want anyone to see her mother this way. Didn’t want the neighbors to gossip and ask each other what Rusty Ammerman was doing home in the middle of the day, wearing a black lace negligee and chasing her daughter down Sayre Street toward Morris Avenue. Miri stopped, letting Rusty catch up with her. “You look ridiculous!” Miri told her. “I guess so,” Rusty said. “Go home, Mom.” “Not unless you come with me.” Rusty tried to put her arm around Miri but Miri backed away, repelled. “Don’t touch me!” —DR. O WAS GONE when they got home. “I’m sorry this is the way you found out,” Rusty said, wrapping the raincoat around her middle and tying the belt. “We were waiting until the divorce to tell you.” “What divorce?” “Arthur and Corinne’s.” “They can’t get divorced. That will make Natalie sicker than she is now.” “Natalie knows,” Rusty said. “You told her but not me?” “She doesn’t know about her father and me. She only knows they’re separating.” “I’ll never forgive you for this. And I’ll never trust you again, either.” “Honey—” “Don’t honey me…and don’t act like everything’s going to be okay, because it’s not.” “I know this is a shock. I wish I could have told you sooner. I don’t expect you to understand right away. But I hope—” “What happened to honesty is the best policy? What happened to trust? All those things you told me when you accused me of betraying you? You probably lied about my father, too.” “I never lied to you about your father. And I’m not lying to you now.” “Did you tell him you were pregnant?

• From In the Unlikely Event (2015)

  Christina put her head on the table and cried. She hadn’t even told them her biggest news. She didn’t see how she’d ever be able to tell them now. MiriRusty and Dr. O wanted to take her out to dinner but Miri refused. She was not going to be seen with the two of them in public. “All right,” Rusty said, “we’ll eat here.” “Does he know you can’t cook?” Rusty smiled. “If you can read, you can cook.” “Are you quitting your job?” “Not yet.” “When?” Rusty shook her head. “Would you like pizza or deli?” “Pizza from Spirito’s. No sausage. Will Nana and Uncle Henry be eating with us?” “No.” “Do they know?” “Not everything. Not yet. We wanted to talk to you first.” “This sounds like fun.” “Sarcasm doesn’t become you, Miri.” “Well, sorry about that, Mom.” “Look, I know how you feel…” “No, you don’t know!” Rusty gave up. “Okay. Fine. Pizza from Spirito’s. Tonight. Six-thirty.” Miri turned and walked out the door. “Miri…” “I’ll be late for school.” “It’s not even seven-twenty,” Rusty said. “Don’t you have a train to catch, Mom?” —SHE WOULD HAVE to tell Mason about this. They had no secrets from each other. But what could she say? That she’d found her mother and Dr. O doing it ? That Dr. O and Corinne were getting divorced? These were her thoughts as she walked home from school that afternoon. She never expected to run into Mason, standing in front of a small apartment house on Cherry Street. They hadn’t planned to meet. Fred was staying with a friend so she didn’t need to drop him at the Steins’ today. She ran toward Mason, taking him by surprise, dropping her books to the ground and throwing her arms around him. “I’m so glad to see you!” “Whoa…” he said. “I have something to tell you,” she said. “I have something to tell you, too,” he said. “You go first,” she said. “Okay. The good news is, I’m going, too.” “Wait—going where?” “Las Vegas. Isn’t that what you wanted to tell me?” “What do you mean, you’re going to Las Vegas?” “Jack’s been talking it up. He says I can finish high school there, then come to work for him. He’s going to teach me to be an electrician.” “Jack is going to Las Vegas?” “Yeah, with Christina. Daisy’s going, too. They’re going to work for Dr. O in his new office.” “What else do you know?” Her mouth felt dried out. Her skin felt clammy. “If you mean about your mom and Dr. O, yeah, I know about that, too.” “Does everyone know?” She steadied herself against a tree. “Only the important people.” Was he making a joke? He looked at her. “Why aren’t you happy?” Why wasn’t she happy? She should be happy, shouldn’t she? “I didn’t want to leave you,” she said.

• From In the Unlikely Event (2015)

  Daisy Christina and Jack were married! She knew Christina had something on her mind but a secret marriage had never occurred to her. She should have guessed. Hadn’t she done the same at Christina’s age—running off with Gerald Dupree, né Dorfman, to Elkton? Gerald Dupree. What a name. And Daisy Dupree—even better. A fabulous name, she’d thought at the time, a name fit for a stripper, or, even better, a movie star, which made her laugh—the only good thing that had come out of her hasty young marriage, annulled two weeks after they’d eloped. But that was a lifetime ago. Gerry had been older, twenty-five to her eighteen. He’d been working for ten years by then, for the Stasio boys, number runners, then bootleggers. It was 1936, times were hard. She was a year out of Linden High School, where she’d won every award in the business program—for typing, steno, bookkeeping. She was lucky to find a job working as a secretary for an insurance agent in Newark. She wasn’t his número uno, as he called his longtime secretary, but he liked Daisy, admired her for her organizational skills. With her first paycheck she went for an eye exam, got prescription glasses and the difference in the way she could see felt like a miracle. Tall, with perfect skin and thick dark hair cut short, a good body, excellent posture, Daisy could have passed for twenty-five. Her older sister, Evelyn, had taught her a thing or two about using makeup, about flirting. She’d met Gerald Dupree at a lunch counter, where they’d both ordered split- pea soup. When their checks came he put down the fifteen cents to pay for hers. She married him on a whim, two months later. She knew what to expect on her wedding night, but nothing beyond that. In a motel outside Elkton, Gerry became frustrated with her. “What’s going on down there?” he’d asked. “How should I know?” she’d answered. “I can’t get in.” “I told you—I’m a virgin.” “I’ve had my share of virgins, baby, but this is something else.” He sent her to a doctor, who broke the news. She would never be able to have children, would never have normal sexual relations. She understood about not

• From In the Unlikely Event (2015)

  But what could she say? That she’d found her mother and Dr. O doing it? That Dr. O and Corinne were getting divorced? These were her thoughts as she walked home from school that afternoon. She never expected to run into Mason, standing in front of a small apartment house on Cherry Street. They hadn’t planned to meet. Fred was staying with a friend so she didn’t need to drop him at the Steins’ today. She ran toward Mason, taking him by surprise, dropping her books to the ground and throwing her arms around him. “I’m so glad to see you!” “Whoa...” he said. “I have something to tell you,” she said. “I have something to tell you, too,” he said. “You go first,” she said. “Okay. The good news is, I’m going, too.” “Wait—going where?” “Las Vegas. Isn’t that what you wanted to tell me?” “What do you mean, you’re going to Las Vegas?” “Jack’s been talking it up. He says I can finish high school there, then come to work for him. He’s going to teach me to be an electrician.” “Jack is going to Las Vegas?” “Yeah, with Christina. Daisy’s going, too. They’re going to work for Dr. O in his new office.” “What else do you know?” Her mouth felt dried out. Her skin felt clammy. “If you mean about your mom and Dr. O, yeah, I know about that, too.” “Does everyone know?” She steadied herself against a tree. “Only the important people.” Was he making a joke? He looked at her. “Why aren’t you happy?” Why wasn’t she happy? She should be happy, shouldn’t she? “I didn’t want to leave you,” she said. “I didn’t want to go.” “So now you won’t have to leave me because I’m going, too.” He hugged her. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Irene was right—some things were bashert, meant to be. Out of all the places in the world, she and Mason were going to wind up in Las Vegas together. She started to laugh. “But are you sure Jack is going?” “Everything depends on Dr. O. If he goes, then Christina is going, and if

• From In the Unlikely Event (2015)

  But Miri wasn’t in the mood to celebrate. It still felt all too real to her. It could have been another plane, it could have been anything. Was this how it was going to be? Always waiting for the next disaster? She walked home alone, forgetting that Irene had gone to New York for the day with Ben Sapphire. She would have welcomed Irene’s warm embrace. Instead, she headed upstairs to her room, where she would lie on her bed with the kaleidoscope, losing herself in its beautiful patterns and colors. Upstairs, something felt wrong. Rusty’s bedroom door was closed and it sounded as if she was sick. Rusty had never missed a day of work in her life— but now she was mewling. “Mom...” Miri opened the door to Rusty’s room and wasn’t sure at first what she was seeing. Rusty looked over the shoulder of whoever was on top of her. “Ohmygod, Miri!” Miri couldn’t breathe, let alone speak. A man, naked, with a white backside, turned to look at her and Miri let out one cry, then covered her mouth with her hand and ran down the stairs, out of the house, up the street. That was Dr. O on top of her mother, and he wasn’t checking her teeth. Then Rusty was running after her, a raincoat thrown over a black lace negligee. “Miri, wait!” Miri turned for a minute, in time to see Rusty trip over the negligee, too long for her raincoat to cover, her bare feet in her weekend moccasins. Miri didn’t want anyone to see her mother this way. Didn’t want the neighbors to gossip and ask each other what Rusty Ammerman was doing home in the middle of the day, wearing a black lace negligee and chasing her daughter down Sayre Street toward Morris Avenue. Miri stopped, letting Rusty catch up with her. “You look ridiculous!” Miri told her. “I guess so,” Rusty said. “Go home, Mom.” “Not unless you come with me.” Rusty tried to put her arm around Miri but Miri backed away, repelled. “Don’t touch me!” — DR. O WAS GONE when they got home.

• From The Annotated Lolita (1991)

  We were coming out of some office building one morning, with her papers almost in order, when Valeria, as she waddled by my side, began to shake her poodle head vigorously without saying a word. I let her go on for a while and then asked if she thought she had something inside. She answered (I translate from her French which was, I imagine, a translation in its turn of some Slavic platitude): “There is another man in my life.”

• From In the Unlikely Event (2015)

  “Well, he did.” “I don’t need diamond earrings to prove he loves me.” — NATALIE PHONED Miri the following night. “I need to see you. Come to the house tomorrow right after school.” “The house? You’re home?” “No questions.” “But what about—” Natalie didn’t wait for her to finish. “Just don’t be late.” Miri rode her bike to Natalie’s right after school. She was relieved Corinne’s car wasn’t in the driveway. She didn’t see how she could face Corinne. Natalie was waiting at the door and rushed Miri up to her bedroom, closed the door behind them and blocked it with a chair. Miri was surprised and uncomfortable. Should she be afraid? She didn’t know. “How long have you been home?” she asked. “Since Lulu died.” “Lulu died? That’s terrible.” “Terrible things happen, in case you didn’t already know.” “But it’s so sad.” “A lot of things are sad.” “Are you going back to Watchung Hills?” “Not if I can help it. Sit down and stop asking questions. I have a couple of things I want to tell you.” Miri wasn’t used to Natalie bossing her around but she did as she was told, sitting on the edge of the twin bed, the one she used to sleep in almost every weekend, the one she thought of as hers. Natalie sat on her own bed, facing Miri. “One—you can stop this from happening. And if you don’t I’ll never speak to you again.” “Stop what?” “Don’t go all naïve on me.” “I thought you didn’t know...” “Well, now I do and you have to stop my father from marrying your mother

• From The Annotated Lolita (1991)

  23I rushed out. The far side of our steep little street presented a peculiar sight. A big black glossy Packard had climbed Miss Opposite’s sloping lawn at an angle from the sidewalk (where a tartan laprobe had dropped in a heap), and stood there, shining in the sun, its doors open like wings, its front wheels deep in evergreen shrubbery. To the anatomical right of this car, on the trim turf of the lawn-slope, an old gentleman with a white mustache, well-dressed—doublebreasted gray suit, polka-dotted bow-tie—lay supine, his long legs together, like a death-size wax figure. I have to put the impact of an instantaneous vision into a sequence of words; their physical accumulation in the page impairs the actual flash, the sharp unity of impression: Rug-heap, car, old man-doll, Miss O.’s nurse running with a rustle, a half-empty tumbler in her hand, back to the screened porch—where the propped-up, imprisoned, decrepit lady herself may be imagined screeching, but not loud enough to drown the rhythmical yaps of the Junk setter walking from group to group—from a bunch of neighbors already collected on the sidewalk, near the bit of checked stuff, and back to the car which he had finally run to earth, and then to another group on the lawn, consisting of Leslie, two policemen and a sturdy man with tortoise shell glasses. At this point, I should explain that the prompt appearance of the patrolmen, hardly more than a minute after the accident, was due to their having been ticketing the illegally parked cars in a cross lane two blocks down the grade; that the fellow with the glasses was Frederick Beale, Jr., driver of the Packard; that his 79-year-old father, whom the nurse had just watered on the green bank where he lay—a banked banker so to speak—was not in a dead faint, but was comfortably and methodically recovering from a mild heart attack or its possibility; and, finally, that the laprobe on the sidewalk (where she had so often pointed out to me with disapproval the crooked green cracks) concealed the mangled remains of Charlotte Humbert who had been knocked down and dragged several feet by the Beale car as she was hurrying across the street to drop three letters in the mailbox, at the corner of Miss Opposite’s lawn. These were picked up and handed to me by a pretty child in a dirty pink frock, and I got rid of them by clawing them to fragments in my trouser pocket.

• From On Beauty (2005)

  Zora was on her way to Dean French’s office to empty her hypothetical future into his lap. She was particularly concerned about her failure to get into Claire Malcolm’s poetry class last semester. She hadn’t yet seen the boards, but if it happened again then that could have a very adverse affect on her future, which needed to be discussed, along with many other troubling aspects of  On Beauty her future in all its futurity. This was the first of seven meetings that she had taken it upon herself to schedule for the initial week of the semester. Zora was extremely fond of scheduling meetings about her future with important people for whom her future was not really a top priority. The more people were informed of her plans the more real they became to her. ‘The future’s another country, man,’ said Carl mournfully, and then the punchline seemed to come to him; his face surrendered to a smile. ‘And I still ain’t got a passport.’ ‘That’s . . . is that from your lyrics?’ ‘Might be, might be.’ He shrugged, rubbed his hands together, although it wasn’t cold, not yet. With deep insincerity he said, ‘It was nice talking to you, Zora . It was educational.’ He seemed angry again. Zora looked away and fiddled with the zip of her tote. She had an unfamiliar urge to help him. ‘Hardly – I didn’t say a word, practically.’ ‘Yeah, but you listen well. That’s the same thing.’ Zora looked up at him again, startled. She couldn’t remember ever being told that she listened well. ‘You’re very talented, aren’t you?’ murmured Zora without thinking about what in God’s name she meant. She was lucky – the words slipped under a passing delivery truck. ‘Well, Zora – ’ He clapped his hands; was she ridiculous to him? ‘You keep studyin’.’ ‘Carl. It was nice to meet you again.’ ‘Tell that brother of yours to call me. I’m doing another show at the Bus Stop – you know, it’s down Kennedy, on Tuesday.’ ‘Don’t you live in Boston?’ ‘Yeah, and? It ain’t far – we’re allowed to come into Wellington, you know. Don’t need a pass. Man . Wellington’s OK – that part of it is, Kennedy Square. It ain’t all students – there’s brothers too. Anyway . . . Just tell your bro if he wants to hear some rhymes he should come. It might not be poetry poetry,’ said Carl, walking away before Zora had a chance to answer, ‘but it’s what I do.’  the anatomy lesson 

• From The Golden Ass (Metamorphoses) (2)

  When they had spoken these words, the most ancient of the judges did rise and say to the people: * Touching this murder which deserveth great punish- ment, this malefactor himself cannot deny it: but one duty further is left us, to enquire and try out whether he had no coadjutors to help him in this great crime. For it is not likely that one man alone could kill three such great and valiant persons: wherefore the truth must be tried out by the rack, for the slave that was with him fled secretly away, and so we must needs put him to the question, that we may learn what other companions he had, and root out the nest of these mischievous murderers.” And there was no long delay, for, according to the custom of Greece, the fire, the wheel, and many other torments were brought in: then straightway my sorrow increased or rather doubled, in that I could not at least end my life with whole and unperished members. But by and by the old woman, who had troubled all the court with her howling, implored the judges, saying: “Before ye send to the gallows this thief that hath destroyed my wretched children, let him uncover the bodies which he hath slain, that every man may see their comely shape and youthful beauty.and be the more enraged thereat, and that he H 113 LUCIUS APULEIUS iustam. indignationem arrecti pro modo facinoris saeviatis." His dictis applauditur, et illico me magistratus ipsum iubet corpora, quae lectulo fuerant posita, mea manu detegere. Luctantem me ac diu renuentem praecedens facinus instaurare nova ostensione lictores iussu magistratuum quam instantissime compellunt, manum denique ipsam e regione lateris tundentes in exitium suum super ipsa cadavera porrigunt. Evictus tandem necessitate suecumbo, et ingratis licet arrepto pallio retexi corpora. Di boni, quae facies rei! Quod monstrum ! Quae fortunarum mearum repentina mutatio! Quamquam enim iam in peculio Proser- pinae et Orci familia numeratus, subito in contrariam faciem obstupefactus haesi nec possum novae illius imaginis rationem idoneis verbis expedire : nam cadavera illa iugulatorum hominum erant tres utres inflati variisque secti foraminibus et, ut vespertinum proelium. meum recordabar, his locis hiantes, quibus latrones illos vulneraveram. Tune ille quorundam astu paulisper cohibitus risus libere iam exarsit in plebem: hi gaudii nimietate gratulari, illi dolorem ventris manuum compressione sedare, et certe laetitia delibuti meque respectantes cuncti theatro facessunt. At ego, ut primum illam Jaciniam prenderam, fixus in lapidem steti gelidus, nihil secus quam una. de ceteris theatri statuis vel colum- nis: nec prius ab inferis emersi quam Milo hospes accessit et iniecta manu me renitentem lacrimisque 114 10 THE GOLDEN ASS, BOOK III may receive condign and worthy punishment, accord- ing to the quality of the offence.”

• From The Golden Ass (Metamorphoses) (2)

  Therewithal they were delighted at her words, and the judge commanded me forthwith to discover the bodies of the slain that lay upon the bier, with my own hand; but when I refused a good space, by reason I would not anew make my deed apparent to the eyes of all men, the sergeants charged me by commandment of the judges, and thrust me forward to do the same, and forced my hand, to its own un- doing, from my side over the bier. I then (being enforced by necessity) though it were against my will, drew away the pall and uncovered their bodies : but, O good. Lord, what a strange sight did I see! What a monster! . What sudden change of all my sorrows! For I, who had seemed as though I were already one of the house of Proserpina and of the family of death, could not sufficiently express the form of this new sight, so far was I amazed and astonished thereat; for why? The bodies of the three slain men were no bodies, but three blown bladders, mangled in divers places, and they seemed to be wounded in those parts where I remembered I had wounded the thieves the night before. Then did that laughter, which they had before artfully concealed, break out exceedingly among the people. Some rejoiced marvellously with the remem- brance thereof, some held their stomachs that ached with joy, but every man delighted at this passing sport, gazing on me, and so departed out of thé theatre. But I, from the time that I uncovered the bodies, stood still as one turned. to stone and cold as ice, no otherwise than as the other statues and pillars there, neither came I up from this hell of mine. until such time as Milo, mine host, came and 115 11 LUCIUS APULEIUS rursum promicantibus crebra singultientem clementi violentia secum attraxit et observatis viae solitudi- nibus per quosdam anfractus domum suam perduxit, maestumque me atque etiam tune trepidum variis solatur affatibus ; nec tamen indignationem iniuriae, quae inhaeserat altius meo pectori, ullo modo permul- cere quivit.

• From On Beauty (2005)

  Felix pushed a young man forward. He was skinny, with shoulders no broader than a girl’s; you could rest an egg between each knob of his spine. He had a big natural afro, a small, feathery moustache, and an Adam’s apple bigger than his nose. Levi imagined him to be in his mid twenties, maybe as old as twenty-eight. He wore a cheap orange acrylic sweater rolled up to his elbows, despite the chill, and down his right arm there was this knockout  On Beauty scar, rose-pink against his black skin, beginning in a point and then spreading out down his forearm like the wake of a ship. ‘That’s your name?’ asked Levi, as they crossed the street. ‘Like a train ?’ ‘What does this mean?’ ‘You know, like a train , like, choo choo! Train coming through! Like a train .’ ‘It’s Haitian. C-H-O-U-C – ’ ‘Yeah, yeah – I see . . .’ Levi considered the problem. ‘Well, I can’t call you that, man. How about just Choo – that works, actually. It works. Levi and Choo.’ ‘It’s not my name.’ ‘No, I get that, man – but it just runs better to my ear – Choo. Levi and Choo. You hear that?’ No answer came. ‘Yeah, it’s street. Choo . . . The Choo. That’s cool. Put it there – no, not there – like this. That’s the way.’ ‘Let’s get on with it, shall we?’ said Choo, freeing his hand from Levi’s and looking both ways down the street. ‘We need to weigh everything down in this wind. I have some stones from the churchyard.’ Such an extended piece of grammatically correct English was not what Levi had been expecting. In silent surprise he helped Choo untie his bundle, releasing a pile of colourful handbags on to the sidewalk. He stood on the sheet to fight the wind, while Choo placed stones on the handles of the bags. Then Levi began to clip his own DVDs to a similarly weighted bed-sheet with clothes-pegs. He tried to make conversation. ‘Bottom line is, Choo, the only thing you got to worry about really is keeping an eye out for the cops and just giving me the holler when you see them. A holler and a hoot. And you got to see them before they even there – you got to get that street sense so you can smell a cop eight blocks away. That takes time, that’s an art. But you got to acquire it. That’s street .’ ‘I see.’ ‘I lived on these streets all my life, so it’s like second nature to me.’  the anatomy lesson ‘Second nature.’ ‘But don’t worry – you’ll pick all this shit up in time.’ ‘I’m sure I will. How old are you, Levi?’ ‘Nineteen,’ said Levi, sensing the older the better. But it didn’t seem better. Choo closed his eyes and shook his head, slightly but perceptibly.

• From On Beauty (2005)

  Twenty minutes and five pages of impenetrable statistics later, Levi got off at his stop and switched his music back on. At the exit to the T he looked around him. The district was busy. How strange it was to see streets where everybody was black! It was like a homecoming, except he’d never known this home. And yet they all hurried past him as if he were a local – nobody looked at him twice. He asked an old guy by the exit for directions. The man wore an old-fashioned hat and a bow-tie. As soon as he started speaking Levi realized he was going to be of no use whatsoever. Very slowly, the old guy told him to take a right here, walk three blocks, past the blessed Mr Johnson – Beware of them snakes! – and then take a left into the square because the street he was looking for was someplace around there if he was not mistaken. Levi had no idea what the guy was talking about, but he thanked him and took the right. It began to rain. The one thing Levi was not was waterproof. If all this gear got wet, it would be like dragging another boy his own weight around on his back. Three blocks down, under the awning of a pawnshop, Levi stopped a young brother and was directed precisely in language he recognized. He ran diagonally across the square and soon found the street and the house. It was a big square property with twelve windows out front. It looked like it had been sliced in half. The sliced side was raw brick red. Shrubs and garbage grew up against this wall, alongside a burned-out car, turned upside down. Levi walked to the front of the property. Three defunct commercial properties faced him. A locksmith, a butcher and a lawyer had all failed to make a go of it here. Each doorway had multiple bells for the apartments above. Levi checked his piece of paper. , Apartment B. ‘Hey, Choo?’  on beauty and being wrong There was silence. Levi knew someone was there because the intercom had come on. ‘Choo? You there? It’s Levi.’ ‘ Levi? ’ Choo sounded half awake, his sleepy accent Gallic and smooth, like Pepe le Pew. ‘What are you doing here, man?’ Levi coughed. The rain was now coming down hard. It made a harsh metallic sound as it hit the sidewalk. Levi put his mouth close to the intercom. ‘Bro, I was passing, ’cos I live not so far and . . . and this shit’s coming down outside, yo, so . . . well, you gave me your address that time, so, as I was passing . . .’ ‘You want to come into my place?’ ‘Yeah, man . . . I was just . . . Look, Choo, it’s chilly out here, man. You gonna let me in or what?’ Silence again. ‘Stay there, please.’