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 The Canterbury Tales (2009)

  They were two or three furlongs distant from the city when they came upon a young scholar riding alone. They greeted him in Latin, whereupon he astounded them with his first words. ‘I know why you have come here,’ he told them. And, without more ado, he informed them of their plans. The brother of Aurelius asked him for news of the other scholars at the university and, having learned that they had all died, he broke down in tears. Aurelius himself alighted from his horse and followed the young magician to his house in the city. Here he and his brother were nobly entertained, with all kinds of meat and drink. Aurelius had never seen so comfortable and well-stocked a house. Before they sat down to supper, their host conjured into their sight extensive forests and parks filled with wild deer. Aurelius saw, or thought he saw, stags with great horns. He had never seen beasts so great. He saw one hundred of them torn to pieces by mastiff dogs, and another hundred wounded to death with sharp arrows. When the wild deer had disappeared, he saw falconers standing by the bank of a great river; their birds had just killed a heron. And, look, there were some knights jousting on a plain. And what is this? There was Dorigen before him, dancing. Aurelius seemed to be dancing with her, too. He could hear the music. Yet at this point the young master clapped his hands, and all the illusions vanished into thin air. Farewell. The revels all were ended. They had seen such marvels as tongue could not express, but they had not moved from his house. They were still in his study, surrounded by his books. They sat there, the three of them, in silence. Then their host called out to his squire. ‘Is our supper ready yet? I asked you to prepare it more than an hour ago, when I brought these gentlemen into my study.’ ‘Master,’ the servant replied, ‘it is ready whenever you want it. It is ready now.’ ‘We will go and eat at once then. These lovers, like my friend here, need to rest between dances.’ Then, after supper, they began to discuss the fee that the magician would require. He was supposed to remove all the rocks along the coast, from the mouth of the river Gironde to the mouth of the Seine. What would that cost? He said that it would be difficult, involving many problems. All things considered, he could not accept less than a thousand pounds. God knows, even at that price, he was working cheap. Aurelius was too elated to argue with him. ‘A thousand pounds is nothing! If I had the whole round world, I would give it away for such a blessing. We have a bargain, sir. We are in agreement. I swear to you that you will be paid in full. But let’s get to work at once. Let us start tomorrow!’

• From The Canterbury Tales (2009)

  ‘Now let me tell you about the mirror I am holding. It has much power. When a man looks into it, he will see whatever misfortune awaits him. It will show you, sire, any harm that threatens you or your kingdom. Friend and foe will be reflected in the glass. If any gracious lady has set her heart on a man, she will see in this mirror if he is false to her; she will see his unfaithfulness as clear as day. Nothing will be concealed. On this auspicious spring day, my lord and master sends this mirror and this gold ring to your excellent daughter, Canacee. ‘May I tell you about the virtues of the ring? If the noble lady cares to wear it on her thumb, or carry it in her purse, she will understand the language of the birds. She will be able to speak to them as they fly above her. She will also understand the language of every herb that grows upon the earth, and will know which of them heals or cures the most grievous wound. ‘I will now explain the power of the sword that is hanging by my side. It has the ability to smite through the heaviest and greatest armour. It will cut through metal plates, thick as oak trees, as if they were made of butter. It has one other power. Any man who is wounded by this sword will never be whole again - unless you take up the blunt side of the weapon itself, and lay it upon his body in the place where he is hurt. Stroke the wound with the sword, and it will close up. I swear that all this is true. This sword will not fail you.’ As soon as he had finished speaking, the knight rode out of the hall and leaped from his horse. This animal, its brass shining as bright as the sun, stood absolutely still in the courtyard. The knight himself was led to a chamber, where he was carefully undressed and given meat. Meanwhile the gifts he had brought with him, the sword and the mirror, were taken by royal officers to the high tower of the palace. The ring itself was solemnly presented to Canacee as she sat at the high table. The horse of brass, however, could not be moved. It seemed to be glued to the ground. None of the courtiers or soldiers could dislodge it - not with pulley, or windlass, or mechanical engine of any kind. How could they? They did not know its secrets. So they left it in position until the knight in shining armour, as you shall hear later, told them the trick of shifting it.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  —¿Qué demonios estás haciendo? —escucho gritar a Pike. Escucho un chapuzón de agua, voces sorprendidas y un jadeo. —¡Mierda! —exclama Cole—. Pensé que estabas dormido. —¡Nadie está jodidamente dormido! —¿Qué? —cuestiona Cole. Nadie. Creo que acaba de darse cuenta de que también yo estoy en casa. Secándome los ojos, cruzo la cocina y dejo que mis piernas tomen el control. Atravesando la puerta trasera, bajo los escalones de madera y veo a Elena escondiendo su cuerpo desnudo detrás de Cole, quien todavía está hundido hasta la cintura en la piscina. —¿Cuál es tu problema? —Pike se adelanta, tomando las toallas y lanzándoselas a su hijo. Las atrapa y Elena toma una, cubriéndose rápidamente mientras la mitad de la toalla toca el agua alrededor de ella. Me lanza miradas asustadas. —Pensé que estaría en el trabajo hasta las dos —le dice Cole, sonando culpable y hablando con su padre como si yo no estuviera ahí. Su cabeza está agachada y no está mirando a nadie. —¿Así que hacerlo a espaldas de ella está bien? —No, yo solo... —Puedo encargarme de esto —los interrumpo, adelantándome. Me sorprendo a mí misma por lo tranquilo que es mi tono y porque no estoy llorando. No me importa llorar frente a Cole, pero no voy a descontrolarme frente a ella. Pike me mira, dudando varios segundos. Finalmente, se gira y escucho la puerta mosquitera cerrarse. En cuanto se ha ido, Elena sale rápidamente de la piscina, apretando la toalla a su alrededor mientras toma su ropa de la tumbona. —Voy a irme —indica, con una mirada arrepentida en su rostro mientras mueve su mirada entre Cole y yo—. Realmente lo siento, Jordan. Agacha la cabeza y pasa rápidamente junto a mí, hacia la casa y probablemente directo al baño donde puede cambiarse. Vuelvo mis ojos hacia Cole. Su cabello rubio está echado hacia atrás y me mira con la misma expresión que tenía justo antes de decirme que Nick no lo logró.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Pasa un momento de silencio y, lentamente, ambos nos alejamos un poco más, pero ninguno de los dos da la espalda. El silencio se hace más largo, la distancia más lejana, y finalmente levanta una mano, dándome una pequeña despedida antes de meter ambas manos en sus bolsillos traseros. Se despide. —Buenas noches —dice. Solo lo miro fijamente. Sí, buenas noches. Y luego me alejo, mi estómago se retuerce más apretadamente. Ni siquiera conseguí su nombre. Sería bueno decir “hola” si me encuentro con él de nuevo. Sin embargo, no tengo tiempo para lamentarme porque mi teléfono suena y lo saco del bolsillo, viendo el nombre de Cole en la pantalla. Me detengo en la acera y respondo: —Hola, ¿estás en Grounders? —pregunto—. Estoy casi allí. Sin embargo, no dice nada, y me detengo, llamándolo por su nombre. —¿Cole? ¿Hola, estás ahí? Nada. —¿Cole? —digo más fuerte. Pero la línea está muerta. Voy a llamarlo, pero escucho una voz detrás de mí. —¿Tu novio se llama Cole? —pregunta el hombre del teatro—. ¿Cole Lawson? Me giro para verlo caminar lentamente hacia mí. —Sí —contesto—. ¿Lo conoces? Duda por un momento, como si estuviera aceptando algo, y luego extiende su mano y finalmente se presenta. —Soy Pike. Pike Lawson. ¿Lawson? Se detiene un momento y luego agrega: —Su padre. Mis pulmones se vacían. —¿Qué? —Exhalo. ¿Su padre? Mi boca se abre, pero la cierro de nuevo, mirando a este hombre con nuevos ojos mientras la comprensión es asimilada. Cole ha hablado de su padre de pasada, sabía que vivía en el área, pero no son cercanos, por lo que sé. La impresión que tuve del padre de Cole, por las breves menciones de su hijo, no coincide con el hombre con el que hablé esta noche en el teatro. Es agradable. Y es fácil hablar con él. Y apenas parece lo suficientemente mayor como para tener un hijo de diecinueve años, por todos los cielos. —¿Su padre? —repito en voz alta. Me da una sonrisa cortante, y sé que este es un giro de los acontecimientos que tampoco esperaba. Después oigo su celular vibrar en su bolsillo, y lo saca, revisando la pantalla. —Y si me está llamando ahora, debe estar en problemas —dice, mirando el teléfono—. ¿Necesitas un aventón? —¿Un aventón adónde? —La estación de policía, supongo. —Suspira, contesta el teléfono y lidera el camino—. Vámonos. —No creo que esta sea una buena idea —le digo a Cole, sacando mis cajas de leche apiladas de la parte trasera de su auto—. Me siento como una vividora. Mi novio muestra esa peculiar inclinación de sus labios donde solo ves el lado izquierdo de sus dientes. —Entonces, ¿qué vas a hacer? —Me mira, deslizando mi mesa de dibujo plegable hacia él y levantándola—. ¿Quedarte en casa de tus padres? Sus ojos azules están entrecerrados, probablemente por la falta de sueño, mientras ambos caminamos y colocamos nuestras cosas en los escalones del porche de la casa de Pike Lawson. Nuestro nuevo hogar.

• From Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity (1990)

  On the cover of the French edition, he remarks that Plutarch understood illustrious persons to constitute parallel lives which in some sense travel infinite lines that eventually meet in eternity. He remarks that there are some lives that veer off the track of infinity and threaten to disappear into an obscurity that can never be recovered—lives that do not follow the “straight” path, as it were, into an eternal community of greatness, but deviate and threaten to become fully irrecoverable. “That would be the inverse of Plutarch,” he writes, “lives at parallel points that nothing can bring back together” (my translation). Here the textual reference is most clearly to the separation of Herculine, the adopted male name (though with a curiously feminine ending), and Alexina, the name that designated Herculine in the female mode. But it is also a reference to Herculine and Sara, h/er lover, who are quite literally separated and whose paths quite obviously diverge. But perhaps Herculine is in some sense also parallel to Foucault, parallel precisely in the sense in which divergent lifelines, which are in no sense “straight,” might well be. Indeed, perhaps Herculine and Foucault are parallel, not in any literal sense, but in their very contestation of the literal as such, especially as it applies to the categories of sex. Foucault’s suggestion in the preface that there are bodies which are in some sense “similar” to each other disregards the hermaphroditic distinctness of Herculine’s body, as well as h/er own presentation of h/erself as very much unlike the women s/he desires. Indeed, after some manner of sexual exchange, Herculine engages the language of appropriation and triumph, avowing Sara as her eternal property when she remarks, “From that moment on, Sara belonged to me …!!!” (51). So why would Foucault resist the very text that he wants to use in order to make such a claim? In the one interview Foucault gave on homosexuality, James O’Higgins, the interviewer, remarks that “there is a growing tendency in American intellectual circles, particularly among radical feminists, to distinguish between male and female homosexuality,” a position, he argues, that claims that very different things happen physically in the two sorts of encounters and that lesbians tend to prefer monogamy and the like while gay men generally do not. Foucault responds by laughing, suggested by the bracketed “[Laughs],” and he says, “All I can do is explode with laughter.”19 This explosive laughter, we may remember, also followed Foucault’s reading of Borges, reported in the preface to The Order of Things (Les mots et les choses): This book first arose out of a passage in Borges, out of the laughter that shattered, as I read the passage, all the familiar landmarks of my thought … breaking up all the ordered surfaces and all the planes with which we are accustomed to tame the wild profusion of existing things, and continuing long afterwards to disturb and threaten with collapse our age-old distinction between the Same and the Other.20

• From Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity (1990)

  Both claims to truth contradict one another and so displace the entire enactment of gender significations from the discourse of truth and falsity. The notion of an original or primary gender identity is often parodied within the cultural practices of drag, cross-dressing, and the sexual stylization of butch/femme identities. Within feminist theory, such parodic identities have been understood to be either degrading to women, in the case of drag and cross-dressing, or an uncritical appropriation of sex-role stereotyping from within the practice of heterosexuality, especially in the case of butch/femme lesbian identities. But the relation between the “imitation” and the “original” is, I think, more complicated than that critique generally allows. Moreover, it gives us a clue to the way in which the relationship between primary identification—that is, the original meanings accorded to gender—and subsequent gender experience might be reframed. The performance of drag plays upon the distinction between the anatomy of the performer and the gender that is being performed. But we are actually in the presence of three contingent dimensions of significant corporeality: anatomical sex, gender identity, and gender performance. If the anatomy of the performer is already distinct from the gender of the performer, and both of those are distinct from the gender of the performance, then the performance suggests a dissonance not only between sex and performance, but sex and gender, and gender and performance. As much as drag creates a unified picture of “woman” (what its critics often oppose), it also reveals the distinctness of those aspects of gendered experience which are falsely naturalized as a unity through the regulatory fiction of heterosexual coherence. In imitating gender, drag implicitly reveals the imitative structure of gender itself—as well as its contingency. Indeed, part of the pleasure, the giddiness of the performance is in the recognition of a radical contingency in the relation between sex and gender in the face of cultural configurations of causal unities that are regularly assumed to be natural and necessary. In the place of the law of heterosexual coherence, we see sex and gender denaturalized by means of a performance which avows their distinctness and dramatizes the cultural mechanism of their fabricated unity.

• From Tipping the Velvet (1998)

  Her accent was rather purer, with slightly less colour to it, than I remembered. ‘Forgotten you?’ I said then, finding my own voice at last. ‘No. I’m only so very surprised, to see you.’ I gazed at her, and swallowed. Her eyes were as brown as ever, her lashes as dark, her lip as pink ... But she had changed, I had seen it at once. There were one or two creases beside her mouth and at her brow, that told of the years that had passed since we were sweethearts; and she had let her hair grow, so that it curved above her ears in a great, glossy pompadour. With the creases and the hair she did not look, any more, like the prettiest of boys: she looked, as the girl she had sent to me had said, like a lady. As I studied her, so she gazed at me. At last she said, ‘You seem very different, to when I saw you last ...’ I shrugged. ‘Of course. I was nineteen then. I’m twenty-five, now.’ ‘Twenty-five in two weeks’ time,’ she answered; and her lip trembled a little. ‘I remembered that, you see.’ I felt myself blush, and could not answer her. She gazed past me, into the tent. ‘You can imagine my surprise,’ she said then, ‘when I looked in there just now, and saw you lecturing from the stage. I never thought you’d end up on a platform in a tent, speaking on workers’ rights!’ ‘Neither did I,’ I said. Then I smiled, and so did she. ‘Why are you here, at all?’ I asked her then. ‘I’m in rooms at Bow. Everyone has been saying all week, that I must come to the park on Sunday, since there was to be such a marvellous thing in it.’ ‘Have they?’ ‘Oh, yes!’ ‘And - are you here quite alone, then?’ She glanced quickly away. ‘Yes. Walter’s in Liverpool just now. He has gone back to managing: he has shares in a hall up there, and has rented a house for us. I’m to join him when the house is ready.’ ‘And you’re still working the halls?’ ‘Not so much. We ... we had an act together -’ ‘I know,’ I said. ‘I saw you. At the Middlesex.’ Her eyes widened. ‘The time that you met Billy-Boy? Oh, Nan, if I had only known that you were watching! When Bill came back and said he’d seen you -’ ‘I couldn’t look at you for long,’ I said. ‘Were we so bad as that, then?’ She smiled, but I shook my head: ‘It wasn’t that ...’ Her smile grew fainter. I said, after a moment: ‘So you don’t work so much? How’s that?’ ‘Well, Walter is kept busy with the managing now.

• From The Canterbury Tales (2009)

  His ambassadors travelled ahead of him, announcing his arrival. It soon became known throughout the holy city that this high king was coming on a pilgrimage. So the senators of Rome rode out to greet him, according to custom, and to do reverence to his majesty. They also wanted to put on a good show. One of these senators was of course the protector of Constance. He welcomed Aella, and paid him homage, and the king duly returned his courtesies. A day or two later the king invited him and his retinue to a banquet. Who do you think was among the guests? None other than Maurice, the son of Constance. Some people would say, of course, that Constance herself persuaded the senator to take her son. I do not know the circumstances. All I know is that Maurice attended the feast. And I know this, too. Constance had told her son to stand before the king, during the meal, and look him steadfastly in the face. Aella was struck with wonder on seeing the boy. He turned to the senator and asked him the identity of the handsome child standing before the table. ‘I have no idea,’ the senator replied. ‘God be my witness. He has a mother but, as far as I know, he has no father.’ And then he told the king the story of how mother and child were found. ‘God knows,’ he said, ‘I have never seen a more virtuous woman in all my life. I have never heard of a woman - maid or married - who is her equal. She would rather be stabbed in the heart than perform a wicked deed. No man on earth could persuade her otherwise.’ This young boy was the image of his mother. There could not be a closer resemblance. So Aella was reminded of Constance herself, and wondered if it could possibly be that she - his dear wife - was indeed the mother of the child. He was troubled by this, naturally, and left the banquet as quickly as he could. ‘What phantom or vision is in my head,’ he asked himself, ‘when I know well enough that my wife lies at the bottom of the sea?’ But then he put to himself another question. ‘But is it not possible that Christ the Saviour has brought Constance to this place, just as He once sent her to the coast of my own kingdom?’ On that same afternoon he decided to visit the home of the senator, and see for himself. Had there been another miracle? The senator greeted the king with reverence, and then summoned Constance. When she was told that she was about to meet Aella, she almost fainted. She could hardly stand, let alone dance for joy. As soon as Aella caught sight of his wife he greeted her and began to weep piteously. He knew it was her. His wife stood before him.

• From The Canterbury Tales (2009)

  So he kept on questioning the yeoman about this and that. ‘Now tell me this,’ he asked him. ‘Where exactly do you live? Where would I be able to find you?’ The yeoman answered him softly. ‘I live far off in the north country. I hope very much to see you there. I will give you such directions, before we part, that you will never mistake my dwelling.’ ‘Now, dear brother,’ the summoner went on. ‘Tell me this as well. Just between the two of us, riding together. Since you are a bailiff like me, let me know some of your tricks. How I can make the most of my position? You know what I mean. Don’t hold back for fear of offending me. You won’t do that. We are all sinners. Just tell me. How do you do it?’ ‘I will tell you the truth, brother bailiff. I will be straight with you. My wages are low, and my lord is very demanding. I have a hard time of it, I can tell you, and so I am forced to live by bribery and extortion. I admit it. I take as much as I can. Sometimes I use low cunning, and sometimes I use force. That’s the way I earn my living. There’s nothing more to say.’ ‘Snap,’ said the summoner. ‘It’s the same with me, too. I’ll steal anything, God knows, as long as it is not too heavy or too hot. What I earn privately is my own business. I don’t lose any sleep over it. If I didn’t steal, I wouldn’t live. It’s as simple as that. And I’m not about to confess my sins to the priest. I have no pity. I have no conscience. These holy confessors can go fuck themselves. So there, sir, we are well mated and well met. Just one more thing. What do they call you?’ The yeoman began smiling, when he asked the question. ‘Do you really want to know my name? To tell you the truth, I am a fiend. My dwelling is in hell. I ride about the world searching for gains. I like to find out if men like you will give me anything. That is the only profit I can earn. We are engaged in the same trade, you see. To get something, anything, is the sum of my endeavour. I will ride to the end of the world to find my prey. I am riding now.’ ‘God in heaven,’ the summoner replied. ‘What are you saying? I really thought that you were a yeoman. You have the shape of a man, just like mine. Do you have the same form in hell, where you chiefly dwell?’ ‘Certainly not. We have no shape in hell. But we can adopt whatever form we fancy, or else make it appear so. I can appear as a human being, or as an ape; I can even take on the form of a bright angel. Why are you surprised?

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Miro hacia arriba, viendo a tres mujeres de pie en la puerta y notando a unas más afuera. No veo a otro hombre. Mis ojos caen a sus atuendos, y comparado con éstas, la ropa de mi hermana en The Hook parecen prudentes. Cabello, maquillaje, tacones… Lanzo la mirada al chico y lo veo parpadear larga y pesadamente, viéndose ofendido. Levanta los menús de papel que están en la pared y toma algunos de diferentes lugares. —¿Estos restaurantes hacen entregas? —pregunta, bajándolos y sacando billetes de su cartera. —Sí, todos. Levanta los menús con el dinero, y una de las chicas entra y le quita todo de las manos. —Quiero facturas y el cambio —ordena sin mirarla. Ella le hace un gesto a su espalda y desaparece junto a las demás. Me siento obligada a advertirle. Este lugar tiene un código no oficial de conducta, y Danni es bastante estricta sobre no obedecer. Han estado aquí por mucho tiempo, pero el pueblo está buscando comprar la propiedad y no quiere darles ninguna excusa para que quieran desaparecer este lugar. —Este es un lugar familiar y muy silencioso —le digo, escribiendo lentamente su nombre y dirección—. No están permitidas las fiestas, solo para que lo sepa… Me mira, sus ojos marrones oscuros casi divertidos. —Son mis hermanas —dice. Reprimo una sonrisa e intento concentrarme una vez más en mi trabajo. Seguro. Si esas son sus hermanas, entonces yo soy la mamá. Pero ciertamente parecía bastante fastidiado como un hermano lo estaría, supongo. Coloco las llaves sobre el mostrador, con los antiguos llaveros en forma de diamantes, e imprimo el contrato para que lo firme. —La alberca cierra a las diez —le digo—. El hielo y las máquinas expendedoras están entre los dos edificios, y tenemos una lavandería cruzando el camino ahí. — Lo miro y señalo detrás de él, afuera—. El mostrador está abierto las veinticuatro horas. Háganos saber si necesita algo. Y serían doscientos ochenta dólares y cuarenta centavos, por favor. Pero mientras coloco la pluma sobre el contrato y espero su respuesta, veo que ni siquiera me había estado escuchando. Está mirando al letrero con las luces de neón en la pared a su derecha y la frase escrita en cursiva. Bueno, no se parecen en nada a Billy y yo… Su expresión severa se transforma en una pequeña sonrisa mientras mira la señal, tiene una expresión mezclada entre sorpresa y confusión en su rostro, como si un recuerdo estuviera cruzando su cabeza. Vuelvo a mirar al letrero, la obsesión de Danni con la música de los 90 es la cruz de mi verano. Es una frase de una canción de Sheryl Crow, y nunca le pregunté si significaba algo, porque luego pone la canción, y yo sufro. —¿Señor? —digo. Parpadea, girando hacia mí, todavía desorientado por un momento. —¿Está bien? Mueve la cabeza y abre de nuevo su billetera. —¿Cuánto es? —Doscientos ochenta, y cuarenta y dos —le digo.

• From Summer Sisters (1998)

  “You invented the ski instructor?” “So you’d think I was first.” Vix is having trouble digesting this. “You mean you lied?” “Couldn’t we just say I was imaginative?” “Imaginative?” “Okay ... so I lied.” “What about Von? Did you make him up, too?” And what about the other hundred or so she’s heard about over the years? “Oh, Von ... we never actually, you know, consummated our affair. He wouldn’t wear a condom. You can see where that got him. Anyway, he liked all the other stuff better.” They stand there looking at one another until Caitlin says, “You mean you never knew ... you never guessed?” Vix feels as if she can’t breathe. She grasps the bed rail. Caitlin’s voice goes whispery. “After Nathan ... after the funeral, when I came back to the Vineyard ...” Vix turns away. No! She refuses to believe this. She looks out the window as the flower girls line up by size, each one carrying a bunch of daisies. “You asked me to explain to him,” Caitlin says. “You asked me to tell him why you couldn’t come back.” She comes up behind Vix and lays a hand on her arm. “It just happened. It didn’t mean anything. Really.” Vix doesn’t move. Caitlin grabs hold of her, forces her to listen. “I admit I was jealous because he loved you so much ... but even more, because you loved him. I wanted to prove to you that he was just like all the others, following his pointer through life.” “Bru was never like that.” She can’t believe she’s standing here defending him after last night. She’s going to tell Caitlin the truth. Right now. She’s going to even the score. But Caitlin hasn’t finished. “Why do you think I stayed away?” she asks. “Haven’t you ever wondered about that?” You think you know someone really well and then you find out ... “It never happened again,” Caitlin adds. “We never even saw each other again until a couple of months ago when I came back.” Vix catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror and is shocked that her face shows nothing, nothing. The photographer knocks. “One for the road,” she says, pushing open

• From The Case for God (2009)

  In the years leading up to the war, there had been an extraordinarily diverse eruption of Jewish religiosity, which had blossomed into multifarious sects, each convinced that it alone was the authentic voice of Judaism.1 New scriptures were written. Despite the efforts of Ezra and other reformers, there was still no Jewish orthodoxy. Some of the sects even spoke of abolishing the Sinai revelation and starting again. But everybody agreed that the temple was of prime importance. Some were critical of the temple establishment, which they felt had been corrupted by the Roman occupation; the Qumran ascetics and the related sect of the Essenes held aloof from the cult but looked forward to a new temple that God would build when he had vanquished the wicked. In the meantime, their own communities would become a symbolic shrine and their members would observe the laws of priestly purity. The Pharisees attended regular temple worship, but they also observed the purity laws and temple rituals in their own homes; their spirituality revolved around an imaginary, virtual temple, and they tried to conduct their entire lives as though they were literally standing before the Shekhinah, the divine presence in the temple’s inner sanctum, the Holy of Holies. The Christians, who believed that their teacher Jesus of Nazareth had been the Messiah, had reservations about the temple but still participated in its liturgy. Even though Jesus had been crucified by the Romans in about 30 CE, his disciples believed that he had risen from the tomb and would soon return in glory to inaugurate the Kingdom of God. In the meantime, the Christian leaders lived in Jerusalem in expectation of his coming, and worshipped as a body in the temple every day. The destruction of the temple sent shock waves throughout the entire Jewish world. Only two of the sects that had developed during the Late Second Temple period would survive the catastrophe. Toward the end of the siege, Rabbi Yohanan ben Zakkai, leader of the Pharisees, had himself smuggled out of the city in a coffin to get past the Zealot guards at the gates. Once outside, he made his way to the Roman camp and asked the emperor’s permission to settle with a group of scholars in the coastal town of Yavneh to the south of Jerusalem. After the fall of the city, a community of scribes, priests, and Pharisees gathered there and, under the leadership of Yohanan and his pupils Eliezer and Joshua, began the heroic task of transforming Judaism from a temple faith to a religion of the book. The Torah would replace the Holy of Holies, and the study of scripture would substitute for animal sacrifice. But in the first years after the disaster, the Pharisees simply could not believe that the temple was gone forever; they began to collect and preserve all its ancient traditions so that they would be ready for the new temple and the resumption of the cult.2

• From Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity (1990)

  Indeed, perhaps Herculine and Foucault are parallel, not in any literal sense, but in their very contestation of the literal as such, especially as it applies to the categories of sex. Foucault’s suggestion in the preface that there are bodies which are in some sense “similar” to each other disregards the hermaphroditic distinctness of Herculine’s body, as well as h/er own presentation of h/erself as very much unlike the women s/he desires. Indeed, after some manner of sexual exchange, Herculine engages the language of appropriation and triumph, avowing Sara as her eternal property when she remarks, “From that moment on, Sara belonged to me ...!!!” (51). So why would Foucault resist the very text that he wants to use in order to make such a claim? In the one interview Foucault gave on homosexuality, James O’Higgins, the interviewer, remarks that “there is a growing tendency in American intellectual circles, particularly among radical feminists, to distinguish between male and female homosexuality,” a position, he argues, that claims that very different things happen physically in the two sorts of encounters and that lesbians tend to prefer monogamy and the like while gay men generally do not. Foucault responds by laughing, suggested by the bracketed “[Laughs],” and he says, “All I can do is explode with laughter.” 19 This explosive laughter, we may remember, also followed Foucault’s reading of Borges, reported in the preface to The Order of Things (Les mots et les choses): This book first arose out of a passage in Borges, out of the laughter that shattered, as I read the passage, all the familiar landmarks of my thought ... breaking up all the ordered surfaces and all the planes with which we are accustomed to tame the wild profusion of existing things, and continuing long afterwards to disturb and threaten with collapse our age-old distinction between the Same and the Other. 20 The passage is, of course, from the Chinese encyclopedia which confounds the Aristotelian distinction between universal categories and particular instances. But there is also the “shattering laughter” of Pierre Rivière whose murderous destruction of his family, or, perhaps, for Foucault, of the family, seems quite literally to negate the categories of kinship and, by extension, of sex. 21 And there is, of course, Bataille’s now famous laughter which, Derrida tells us in Writing and Difference, designates that excess that escapes the conceptual mastery of Hegel’s dialectic. 22 Foucault, then, seems to laugh precisely because the question instates the very binary that he seeks to displace, that dreary binary of Same and Other that has plagued not only the legacy of dialectics, but the dialectic of sex as well. But then there is, of course, the laugh of Medusa, which, Hélène Cixous tells us, shatters the placid surface constituted by the petrifying gaze and which exposes the dialectic of Same and Other as taking place through the axis of sexual difference.

• From St. Augustine's Confessions (2004)

  Lecture Eighteen Book IX—The Death of Monica Scope: This lecture focuses on one of the most famous sections in the Confessions, a section that is also full of surprises. To set the scene of his mother’s death, Augustine tells the story of her life. Because attitudes toward women have changed a great deal since the time of Augustine, his description of her life opens up a window on the world of late antiquity, especially in terms of domestic life. We learn something of the relations between men and women during this time, as well as some of the circumstances that were unique to Monica, including the fact that she was “addicted” to wine in her youth. But Augustine carefully crafts this narrative to prepare the reader for the scenes surrounding her death. Of particular importance is the meditation that Augustine and his mother share immediately before her death on the joys of heaven. This passage is often seen as one of the key texts in the history of Christian mysticism in the West and is, therefore, worth a close look. Augustine’s reaction to his mother’s death is also important: Because it takes place after his conversion and baptism, it provides an interesting and important contrast with the death of his friend that we discussed in Book IV and shows how Augustine has carefully shaped the narrative so that events play off each other. Outline I. The death of Augustine’s mother, Monica, is one of the most famous sections of the Confessions, but it is also a section that is full of surprises. II. To prepare us for her death, Augustine fills in some of the details of her life, details that were not given to us earlier in the narrative. A. We learn the rather surprising story of her “fondness” for wine in her youth. 1. This becomes yet another way for Augustine to talk about addiction to a vice. 2. Monica fell into this vice despite the strong warning of one of her servants. ©2004 The Teaching Company. 55

• From Summer Sisters (1998)

  13 Summer 1980 SOMETIMES CAITLIN acted like the one who didn’t get it. When Vix broached the subject of finding jobs Caitlin was incredulous. “A job ... but why ... are you bored?” “No, I’m not bored.” “Then, what?” “I need the money.” “Oh, the money.” Caitlin had trouble remembering not everyone had an unlimited amount to spend. Not that she was a big spender. Like Lamb, she played down the money thing. She had no idea the scholarship had caused an uproar at Vix’s house. “The world has changed since we were young,” Ed had told Tawny. “This will give Vix an—” He’d dropped the last word. “A what?” Tawny asked. “An edge,” her father repeated, this time so Tawny could hear the word. “An edge to topple over,” Tawny scoffed. “She deserves the chance,” Ed argued. “After that, it’s ...” He’d mumbled the rest but Vix, listening intently, was sure he’d said, After that, it’s up to her. Yes, she thought, it would be up to her! She was beginning to see her father as her champion within the family. She just wished he’d be more demonstrative, more open in his love, if love was what it was about. Another thing Caitlin didn’t get was that friendship carried certain obligations. Otherwise she’d never have said, “Even though we’re summer sisters and always will be, I have another life at Mountain Day,

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  —Bueno, tal vez si estuvieras prestando más atención a tu hijo que a su pedazo de basura desechada, sabrías que fue a MEPS12 hace más de una semana para sus exámenes físicos y otras pruebas —me dice, muy complacida de restregarme en la cara todo lo que no sé—. Se alistó en la Marina, Pike. Parece que estaba desesperado por la orientación que claramente no consigue de ti. Se embarcó esta mañana. Mis cejas caen en picada. —¿Qué? —grito esta vez. ¿La Marina? No solo te unes a la Marina. Lleva meses enlistarse. Yo debería saberlo. Casi lo hice cuando tenía su edad. Como si sintiera mis preguntas, continúa. —Lo ha estado planeando por un tiempo. Está perdido, quiere una dirección —dice como si recitara su lista de compras—. Tenía miedo de contarle a alguien, porque tiene la costumbre de no seguir con las cosas. Quería sorprendernos cuando estuviera seguro. Después que fue a MEPS, hizo su prueba, obtuvo su examen físico y estaba comprometido. Sin embargo, iba a decírtelo, pero supongo que nunca tuvo la oportunidad. Mis pulmones están vacíos, y agacho la cabeza. 12Military Entrance Processing Station: es donde llegan las solicitudes para el servicio militar y completar el proceso de enlistamiento. Agujas me apuñalan la garganta y me escuecen los ojos. Esto no es correcto. Él no habría hecho algo así. Cole no es... disciplinado. ¿Se sometería voluntariamente a eso? ¿Qué estaba pensando? —Está en la Estación Naval de Great Lakes —dice—. Regresará en un par de meses. Comprueba su Instagram si no me crees. Hizo un último comentario esta mañana. ¿Instagram? Yo no… Jesucristo. Ella cierra la puerta, e inmediatamente escucho que la cerradura gira. Me quedo allí, afuera de su puerta, la lluvia que me rodea con los últimos días corre por mi cabeza mientras intento conectar cualquier pista que Cole haya dejado sobre sus planes. Renunció a su trabajo, diciéndome todos los beneficios de su nuevo... él quería un tatuaje. Este nuevo trabajo secreto era una gran cosa. ¿Realmente se unió al ejército? Dirigiéndome a mi camioneta, subo y cierro de golpe la puerta contra el aguacero y reviso mi teléfono en busca de mensajes o textos nuevamente. Pero aún nada. Nada de Cole o Jordan. ¿Sabía ella sobre esto? No, ella me lo habría dicho. Recordando lo que dijo Lin, escribo Cole Lawson Instagram en la barra de búsqueda e inmediatamente veo aparecer algunas cuentas diferentes. Al hacer clic en ellas, encuentro una con su foto y veo que la primera publicación es la más reciente. Es solo una imagen de las puertas abiertas de un autobús que parece que está a punto de abordar con una leyenda que dice: Debí haber tomado la píldora azul. ¿Qué significa eso? Entonces recuerdo The Matrix. Una de sus películas favoritas cuando era pequeño.

• From The Canterbury Tales (2009)

  The yeoman began smiling, when he asked the question. ‘Do you really want to know my name? To tell you the truth, I am a fiend. My dwelling is in hell. I ride about the world searching for gains. I like to find out if men like you will give me anything. That is the only profit I can earn. We are engaged in the same trade, you see. To get something, anything, is the sum of my endeavour. I will ride to the end of the world to find my prey. I am riding now.’ ‘God in heaven,’ the summoner replied. ‘What are you saying? I really thought that you were a yeoman. You have the shape of a man, just like mine. Do you have the same form in hell, where you chiefly dwell?’ ‘Certainly not. We have no shape in hell. But we can adopt whatever form we fancy, or else make it appear so. I can appear as a human being, or as an ape; I can even take on the form of a bright angel. Why are you surprised? A second-rate conjuror can deceive you easily enough. So why cannot I? I have more experience, after all.’ ‘So you are telling me that you can ride around in different shapes. You are only a yeoman for a short while?’ ‘Of course. I take whatever shape is necessary. To trap my prey.’ ‘Why, sir fiend, do you go to all this trouble?’

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Me siento obligada a advertirle. Este lugar tiene un código no oficial de conducta, y Danni es bastante estricta sobre no obedecer. Han estado aquí por mucho tiempo, pero el pueblo está buscando comprar la propiedad y no quiere darles ninguna excusa para que quieran desaparecer este lugar. —Este es un lugar familiar y muy silencioso —le digo, escribiendo lentamente su nombre y dirección—. No están permitidas las fiestas, solo para que lo sepa... Me mira, sus ojos marrones oscuros casi divertidos. —Son mis hermanas —dice. Reprimo una sonrisa e intento concentrarme una vez más en mi trabajo. Seguro. Si esas son sus hermanas, entonces yo soy la mamá. Pero ciertamente parecía bastante fastidiado como un hermano lo estaría, supongo. Coloco las llaves sobre el mostrador, con los antiguos llaveros en forma de diamantes, e imprimo el contrato para que lo firme. —La alberca cierra a las diez —le digo—. El hielo y las máquinas expendedoras están entre los dos edificios, y tenemos una lavandería cruzando el camino ahí. — Lo miro y señalo detrás de él, afuera—. El mostrador está abierto las veinticuatro horas. Háganos saber si necesita algo. Y serían doscientos ochenta dólares y cuarenta centavos, por favor. Pero mientras coloco la pluma sobre el contrato y espero su respuesta, veo que ni siquiera me había estado escuchando. Está mirando al letrero con las luces de neón en la pared a su derecha y la frase escrita en cursiva. Bueno, no se parecen en nada a Billy y yo... Su expresión severa se transforma en una pequeña sonrisa mientras mira la señal, tiene una expresión mezclada entre sorpresa y confusión en su rostro, como si un recuerdo estuviera cruzando su cabeza. Vuelvo a mirar al letrero, la obsesión de Danni con la música de los 90 es la cruz de mi verano. Es una frase de una canción de Sheryl Crow, y nunca le pregunté si significaba algo, porque luego pone la canción, y yo sufro. —¿Señor? —digo. Parpadea, girando hacia mí, todavía desorientado por un momento. —¿Está bien? Mueve la cabeza y abre de nuevo su billetera. —¿Cuánto es?

• From The Canterbury Tales (2009)

  She had just got up to her door, and was about to cross the threshold, when she heard a voice. The marquis had ridden towards her and was calling out to her! She put down the water-vessel in a little wicker enclosure, and fell upon her knees. She kneeled in front of her lord, waiting patiently to hear his will. The marquis dismounted from his horse and walked over to her. She did not dare look up at him. He gazed at her thoughtfully, and then in an earnest manner began to speak to her. ‘Where is your father, Griselda?’ ‘He is here, sir. Inside the cottage.’ ‘Will you fetch him for me?’ So she rose to her feet and entered the cottage. When she brought out her father the marquis shook his hand and led him aside. ‘Janiculus,’ he said, ‘I can’t conceal my feelings any longer. I love your daughter and wish to marry her. If you give your permission to the match, I promise to love her and live with her until the day of my death. ‘I know that you love me in turn and that you are my faithful subject. I am your liege lord. Whatever pleases me, I think, will also please you. Am I right? And, as I said, there is one thing that will please me more than anything else. Will you allow me to become your son-in-law?’ The old man was so astounded that his face turned scarlet. He was trembling, he was so nervous that he could hardly get the words out. Finally he managed to stammer an answer. ‘My lord,’ he said, ‘please do whatever you like. I will agree to anything, so long as it pleases you. Anything at all.’ ‘Wait a moment, I think you and me, and Griselda, should have a conversation.’ The marquis spoke very softly and politely. ‘Don’t you agree? I would like to ask her if she is willing to become my wife and to obey my wishes as her lawful husband. I want to talk to her in your presence. I will say nothing out of your hearing.’ So the three of them entered the cottage and began their discussion. I will tell you about that later. Meanwhile all manner of people began to gather outside the cottage, commenting loudly on how neat and clean it looked. Griselda herself was almost overcome with astonishment, as well she might, at the turn of events. She had never seen before such lords and ladies, and such knights in gleaming armour. She had never experienced such magnificence. And to have the marquis sitting beside her - well, she had gone quite pale. Now I will tell you what the marquis said to this paragon, this cynosure, this true heart. Enough of that. These are his actual words.

• From Shoe Dog: A Memoir by the Creator of Nike (2016)

  As night fell hundreds of natives and tourists appeared and began streaming up the mountain. All, I noticed, were carrying long wooden sticks with tinkling bells attached. I spotted an older British couple and asked them about these sticks. “They ward off evil spirits,” the woman said. “There are evil spirits on this mountain?” I asked. “Presumably.” I bought a stick. I then noticed people gathering at a roadside stand and buying straw shoes. The British woman explained that Fuji was an active volcano, and its ash and soot were guaranteed to ruin shoes. Climbers therefore wore disposable straw sandals. I bought sandals. Poorer, but properly outfitted at last, I set off. There were many ways down Mount Fuji, according to my guidebook, but only one way up. Life lesson in that, I thought. Signs along the upward path, written in many languages, said there would be nine stations before the summit, each offering food and a place to rest. Within two hours, however, I’d passed Station 3 several times. Did the Japanese count differently? Alarmed, I wondered if thirteen western states might actually mean three? At Station 7 I stopped and bought a Japanese beer and a cup of noodles. While eating my dinner I fell to talking with another couple. They were Americans, younger than me—students, I assumed. He was preppy, in a ridiculous sort of way. Golf slacks and tennis shirt and cloth belt—he was all the colors of an Easter egg. She was pure beatnik. Torn jeans, faded T-shirt, wild dark hair. Her wide-set eyes were brown-black. Like little cups of espresso. Both were sweating from the climb. They mentioned that I wasn’t. I shrugged and said that I’d run track at Oregon. “Half-miler.” The young man scowled. His