Monday, November 07, 2005
The Hazards of Scholarship
Jerome Shucktice moved to Ludge, Iowa, expressly to
flee the city's jealousies and backstabbing. Most of
his trouble came from mastery of the Galladine, a
stringed instrument from the Hittite civilization.
Deceived others attempted to advertise similar
knowledge, flaunting, too, pitiful musicianship.
He refrained from comment, and they, therefore,
savaged him.
He planned--another reason for rusticating in
Ludge--a satirical novel in response.
And, though he wouldn’t pander to let it be known, he
smiled inwardly about being the leading intellect
there.
A few weeks after settlement on his quaint
fisherman's cottage on the river, Galladine on Lower
Pea-Bosk he named it, a notice on the library bulletin
board stopped his breath.
LUDGE'S OWN AMY DRESH NETTLES WILL
PERFORM ON THE GALLADINE AND DISCUSS
HER NOVEL FEATURING THAT ANCIENT
INSTRUMENT
He noted the date, and since no one knew him, went.
To what end? Laugh inwardly? Pile scorn when he
later developed friends? Perhaps even to “praise” a
local with an A-minus for effort.
The audience proved to be a collection of retired
farmers and their wives, plus two bookish fabric store
clerks who shared an apartment, and
had requested the day off to attend.
An outsized buzz as the lady entered, for she wasn't
a person, really. Well not by most definitions.
But rather, a life-form. Sort of a green, Jello-ish
amoeba flowing under Jerome’s chair and raised feet,
and finally bending onto a platform-- looking at that
point like something from a Dali painting. One farmer
cleared his throat.
The librarian rested the stringed instrument on this
shapelessness, and some kind of protuberances rose to
strum bizarre chords.
Since he fainted along in here, Jerome never did find
out how she read, but he did revive after Amy Dresh
Nettles slid her departure. The fabric store fellows
lingered on their way out, playfully introducing
themselves as Don, and R. Gay Apparel, but then
breathlessly imploring him not to reveal outside the
town what he had witnessed.
Jerome Shucktice moved to Ludge, Iowa, expressly to
flee the city's jealousies and backstabbing. Most of
his trouble came from mastery of the Galladine, a
stringed instrument from the Hittite civilization.
Deceived others attempted to advertise similar
knowledge, flaunting, too, pitiful musicianship.
He refrained from comment, and they, therefore,
savaged him.
He planned--another reason for rusticating in
Ludge--a satirical novel in response.
And, though he wouldn’t pander to let it be known, he
smiled inwardly about being the leading intellect
there.
A few weeks after settlement on his quaint
fisherman's cottage on the river, Galladine on Lower
Pea-Bosk he named it, a notice on the library bulletin
board stopped his breath.
LUDGE'S OWN AMY DRESH NETTLES WILL
PERFORM ON THE GALLADINE AND DISCUSS
HER NOVEL FEATURING THAT ANCIENT
INSTRUMENT
He noted the date, and since no one knew him, went.
To what end? Laugh inwardly? Pile scorn when he
later developed friends? Perhaps even to “praise” a
local with an A-minus for effort.
The audience proved to be a collection of retired
farmers and their wives, plus two bookish fabric store
clerks who shared an apartment, and
had requested the day off to attend.
An outsized buzz as the lady entered, for she wasn't
a person, really. Well not by most definitions.
But rather, a life-form. Sort of a green, Jello-ish
amoeba flowing under Jerome’s chair and raised feet,
and finally bending onto a platform-- looking at that
point like something from a Dali painting. One farmer
cleared his throat.
The librarian rested the stringed instrument on this
shapelessness, and some kind of protuberances rose to
strum bizarre chords.
Since he fainted along in here, Jerome never did find
out how she read, but he did revive after Amy Dresh
Nettles slid her departure. The fabric store fellows
lingered on their way out, playfully introducing
themselves as Don, and R. Gay Apparel, but then
breathlessly imploring him not to reveal outside the
town what he had witnessed.
