SIGN IN to access Harper’s Magazine
Need to create a login? Want to change your email address or password? Forgot your password?
1. Sign in to Customer Care using your account number or postal address.
2. Select Email/Password Information.
3. Enter your new information and click on Save My Changes.
Subscribers can find additional help here. Not a subscriber? Subscribe today!
“Brother Francis Gerard of Utah might never have discovered the blessed documents, had it not been for the pilgrim with girded loins who appeared during that young novice’s Lenten fast in the desert.” I have read this sentence a number of times since I found a copy of the book it initiates, a novel called A Canticle for Leibowitz, by the gas-station pump where I filled up this morning. Perhaps it is, in part, a function of the disorientation that claims me when paying less than two dollars a gallon, but I find myself disturbingly attracted to this sentence, as if to a leering stranger at a low-lit bar. I am compelled by it in complicated ways.
What attracts me to it, other than serendipity, is the purity of its awfulness… coupled with its naked, flailing whorish ambition to seduce. It is working so very hard, and so very transparently, to solicit readerly enthusiasm that one can only love it for how earnest it is in its hapless badness. Lure after lure is cast: “the blessed documents,” for example, is deployed in the hope that deep in the reader’s quiet soul, a voice will shout Hang on–did someone just say blessed documents? What documents? There’s also “the pilgrim with girded loins,” and a “Lenten fast in the desert.” And let us end where it begins: for we failed to acknowledge that most potent enticement of all: Brother Francis Gerard hails, after all, from Utah.
What should go in the first sentence of a novel? In nature, precisely what one finds in the festival above, just not those bald details, and not that way. Here’s another introductory sentence which, in type, is interchangable with that of my gas station discovery, though, in nature, is a thing apart:
My true name is so well known in the records or registers at Newgate, and in the Old Bailey, and there are some things of such consequence still depending there, relating to my particular conduct, that it is not be expected I should set my name or the account of my family to this work; perhaps, after my death, it may be better known; at present it would not be proper, no not though a general pardon should be issued, even without exceptions and reserve of persons or crimes.
Conduct? Crimes? What crimes? My simple reading brain delights at glittering lures like these, and which one finds in truly blessed documents.
More from Wyatt Mason:
Conversation — October 2, 2015, 8:26 am
“By committing to the great emotional extremes demanded by Greek tragedy,” says Bryan Doerries, author of The Theater of War, “the actors are in effect saying to the audience: ‘If you want to match our emotional intensity, that would be fine.’”
Amount New York City spends each year on air, bus, and train tickets to send homeless people out of town:
The Laboratory of Neurophenomics described a possible blood test for suicide.“Suicide,” said the laboratory’s director, “is a big problem in psychiatry.”
Beijing set its air-quality target for 2017 at twice the amount deemed acceptable by the World Health Organization.
Subscribe to the Weekly Review newsletter. Don’t worry, we won’t sell your email address!
"It is an interesting and somewhat macabre parlor game to play at a large gathering of one’s acquaintances: to speculate who in a showdown would go Nazi. By now, I think I know. I have gone through the experience many times—in Germany, in Austria, and in France. I have come to know the types: the born Nazis, the Nazis whom democracy itself has created, the certain-to-be fellow-travelers. And I also know those who never, under any conceivable circumstances, would become Nazis."