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Executive Times |
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2005 Book Reviews |
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Men and
Cartoons by Jonathan Letham |
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Rating: ••• (Recommended) |
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Click on
title or picture to buy from amazon.com |
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Super There
are nine short stories in Jonathan Lethem’s latest collection, Men and
Cartoons, and the longest one, “Super Goat Man,” is worth buying the book
to read. That story captures Lethem’s wit, irony, gloominess, creativity, and
struggle with growing up. The desire for secret powers can disappear when
those powers arrive, as depicted in this excerpt, all of the story titled, “The
Spray,” pp. 47-55: The apartment was burgled
and the police came. Four of them and a dog. The three youngest were like
boys. They wore buzzing squawking radios on their belts. The oldest was in
charge and the young ones did what he told them. The dog sat. They asked what
was taken and we said we weren’t sure—the television and the fax machine, at
least. One of them was writing, taking down what we said. He had a tic, an
eye that kept blinking. “What else?” the oldest policeman said. We didn’t
know what else. That’s when they brought it out, a small unmarked canister,
and began spraying around the house. First they put a mask over the mouth and
nose of the dog. None of them wore a mask. They didn’t offer us any protection.
Just the dog. “Stand back,” they said. They sprayed in a circle toward the
edges of the room. We stood clustered with the policemen. “What’s that?” we
said. “Spray,” said the oldest policeman. “Makes lost things visible.” The spray settled like a
small rain through the house and afterward glowing in various spots were the
things the burglar had taken. It was a salmon-colored glow. On the table was
a salmon-colored image of a box, a jewelry box that Addie’s mother had given us. There was a salmon-colored
glowing television and fax machine in place of the missing ones. On the
shelves the spray showed a Walkman and a camera and a pair of cuff links,
salmon-colored and luminous. In the bedroom was Addie’s
vibrator, glowing like a fuel rod. We all walked around the apartment, looking
for things. The eye-tic policeman wrote down the names of the items that
appeared. Addie called the vibrator a massager.
The dog in the mask, eyes watering. I couldn’t smell the spray. “How long
does it last?” we said. “About a day,” said the
policeman who’d done the spraying, not the oldest. “You know you c-can’t use
this stuff anymore, even though you c-can see it,” he said. “It’s gone.” “Try and touch it,” said
the oldest policeman. He pointed at the glowing jewelry box. We did and it wasn’t
there. Our hands passed through the visible missing objects. They asked us about our
neighbors. We told them we trusted everyone in the building. They looked at
the fire escape. The dog sneezed. They took some pictures. The burglars had
come through the window. Addie put a book on the
bedside table on top of the glowing vibrator. It showed through, like it was
projected onto the book. We asked if they wanted to dust for fingerprints.
The older policeman shook his head. “They wore gloves,” he said. “How do you
know?” we said. “Rubber gloves leave residue, powder,” he said. “That’s what
makes the dog sneeze.” “Oh.” They took more pictures. “Did you want something
to drink?” The older one said no. One of the younger policemen said, “I’m
allergic, just like the d-dog,” and the other policemen laughed. Addie had a drink, a martini. The policemen shook our
hands and then they went away. We’d been given a case number. The box and the
cuff links and the rest still glowed. Then Addie
saw that the policemen had left the spray. She took the canister and
said, “There was something wrong with those policemen.” “Do you mean how young
they seemed?” “No, I think they always
look young. You just don’t notice on the street. Outdoors you see the uniforms,
but in the house you can see how they’re just barely old enough to vote.” “What are you going to do
with that?” I said. She handled it. “Nothing.
Didn’t you think there was something strange about those policemen, though?” “Do you mean the one with
the lisp?” “He didn’t have a lisp,
he had a twitchy eye.” “Well, there was one with an eye thing,
but the one who stuttered—is that what you mean by strange?” Addie kept turning the canister over in her hands. “Why
don’t you let me take that,” I said. “It’s okay,” she said. “I guess I don’t
know what I mean. Just something about them. Maybe there were too many of
them. Do you think they develop the pictures themselves, Aaron? Do they have
a darkroom in the police station?” I said, “Probably.” She said, “Do you
think the missing things show up in the photographs—the things the spray
reveals?” “Probably.” “Let’s just keep it and see if they
come back.” “I wish you would put it on the table,
then.” “Let’s find a place to hide it.” “They’re probably doing some kind of
inventory right now, at the police station. They’ll probably be back for it
any minute.” “So if we hide it—” “If we hide it we look guiltier than if
you just put it on the table.” “We didn’t steal anything. Our house
was broken into. They left it here.” “I wish you would put it on the table.” “I wonder if the police do their
inventory by spraying around the police station to see what’s missing?” “So if we have their spray—” “They’ll never know what happened!” She
shrieked with laughter. I laughed too. I moved next to her on the couch and
we rolled and laughed like monkeys in a zoo. Still laughing, I put my hand on
the spray canister. “Gimme,” I said. “Let go.” Her laughter faded as she
pulled at the can. The ends of several hairs were stuck to her tongue. I
pulled on the can. And she pulled. We both pulled harder. “Gimme,” I
said. I let go of the can and tickled her. “Gimme gimme gimme.” She grimaced and twisted away from me.
“Not funny,” she said. “The police don’t have their SPRAY!” I
said, and kept tickling her. “Not funny not funny.” Slapping my
hands away, she stood up. “Okay. You’re right, it’s not funny.
Put it on the table.” “Let’s return it like you said.” “I’m too tired. Let’s just hide it. We
can return it tomorrow.” “Okay, I’ll hide it. Cover your eyes.” “Not hide-and-seek. We have to agree on
a place. A locked place.” “What’s the big deal? Let’s just leave
it on the table.” She put it on the table, beside the salmon-colored glowing
box. “Maybe somebody will break in and take it. Maybe the police will break
in.” “You’re a little mixed up, I’d say.” I
moved closer to the table. “I’m just tired.” She pretended to
yawn. “What a day.” “I don’t miss the stuff that was
taken,” I said. “You don’t?” “I hate television and faxes. I hate
this little jewelry box.” “See if you’re still saying that
tomorrow, when you can’t see them anymore.” “I only care about you, you, you.” I grabbed the canister of spray. She grabbed it
too. “Let go,” she said. “You’re all I love, you’re all that
matters to me,” I said. We wrestled for the can again. We fell
onto the couch together. “Let’s just put it down on the table,”
said Addie. “Okay.” “Let go.” “You first.” “No, at
the same time.” We put it on the table. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking,”
she said. “I don’t know, probably.” “What are you thinking?” “What you’re thinking.” “I’m not thinking anything.” “Then I’m not either.” “Liar.” “It probably doesn’t work that way,” I
said. “The police wouldn’t have a thing like that. It isn’t the same thing.” “So why not try.” “Don’t.” “You said it wouldn’t work.” “Just don’t. It’s toxic. You saw them
cover the dog’s mouth.” “They didn’t cover themselves. Anyway,
I asked them about that when you were in the other room. They said it was so you wouldn’t see the stuff the dog
ate that fell out of its mouth. Because the dog is a very sloppy eater. So
the spray would show what it had been eating recently, around the mouth. It’s
disgusting, they said.” “Now you’re the liar.” “Let’s just see.” I jumped up. “If you
spray me I’ll spray you,” I shouted. The spray hit me as I moved across the
room. The wet mist fell behind me, like a parachute collapsing in the spot
where I’d been, but enough got on me. An image of Lucinda formed, glowing
and salmon-colored. Lucinda was naked. Her
hair was short, like when we were together. Her head lay on my shoulder, her
arms were around my neck, and her body was across my front. My shirt and
jacket. Her breasts were mashed against me, but I couldn’t feel them. Her
knee was across my legs. I jumped backward but she came with me, radiant and
insubstantial. I turned my head to see her face. Her expression was
peaceful, but her little salmon-colored eyelids were half open. “Ha!” said Addie. “I told you it would work.” “GIVE ME THAT!” I lunged
for the spray. Addie ducked. I grabbed her arm and
pulled her with me onto the couch. Me and Addie and
Lucinda were all there together, Lucinda placidly naked. As Addie and I wrestled for the spray we plunged through
Lucinda’s glowing body, her luminous arms and legs. I got my hands on the
spray canister. We both had our hands on it. Four hands covering the one can.
Then it went off. One of us pressed the nozzle, I don’t know who. It wasn’t
Lucinda, anyway. As the spray settled over
us Charles became visible, poised over Addie. He
was naked, like Lucinda. His glowing shoulders and legs and ass were covered
with glowing salmon hair, like the halo around a lightbulb.
His mouth was open. His face was blurred, like he was a picture someone had
taken while he was moving his face, saying something. “There you go,” I said.
“You got what you wanted.” “I didn’t want anything,” said Addie. We put the spray on the
table. “How long did the police
say it would last?” I said. I tried not to look at Lucinda. She was right
beside my head. “About twenty-four hours.
What time is it?” “It’s late. I’m tired.
The police didn’t say twenty-four hours. About a day, they said.” “That’s twenty-four
hours.” “Probably they meant it’s
gone the next day.” “I don’t think so.” I looked at the television.
I looked at the cuff links. I looked at Charles’s ass. “Probably the sunlight
makes it wear off,” I said. “Maybe.” “Probably you can’t see
it in the dark, in complete darkness. Let’s go to bed.” We went into the bedroom.
All four of us. I took off my shoes and socks. “Probably it’s just attached
to our clothes. If I take off my clothes and leave them in the other room—” “Try it.” I took off my pants and
jacket. Lucinda was attached to me, not the clothes. Her bare salmon knee was
across my bare legs. I started to take off my shirt. Addie
looked at me. Lucinda’s face was on my bare shoulder. “Put your clothes back
on,” said Addie. I put them back on. Addie left her clothes on. We lay on top of the covers in
our clothes. Lucinda and Charles were on top of us. I didn’t know where to
put my hands. I wondered how Addie felt about
Charles’s blurred face, his open mouth. I was glad Lucinda wasn’t blurred.
“Turn off the light,” I said. “We won’t be able to see them in the dark.” Addie turned off the light. The room was
dark. Charles and Lucinda glowed salmon above us. Glowing in the blackness
with the vibrator on the side table and the luminous dial of my watch. “Just close your eyes,” I
said to Addie. “You close yours first,”
she said. I think Lethem is at his best in his
short fiction, and Men and
Cartoons provides a fine sampling of the range of his talent. Steve Hopkins,
June 25, 2005 |
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Cartoons @ amazon.com |
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ã 2005 Hopkins and Company, LLC The recommendation rating for
this book appeared in the July 2005
issue of Executive Times URL for this review: http://www.hopkinsandcompany.com/Books/Men
and Cartoons.htm For Reprint Permission,
Contact: Hopkins & Company, LLC • E-mail: books@hopkinsandcompany.com |
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