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In my previous post, a few notes on D.T. Max’s piece on David Foster Wallace in the current New Yorker, I floated some preliminary ideas as to where the title of Wallace’s forthcoming posthumous unfinished novel, The Pale King, comes from.
Naturally, I’m making an assumption that the title does come from somewhere that precedes Wallace, and there are readers out there in the global interweb who wonder why I would do such a thing. Couldn’t Wallace have just “thought it up himself”? Sure, is one answer, but sparing us a Friday mini-essay on literary allusion I’ll just say that as Wallace’s previous novel, Infinite Jest, would seem to take its title from a play that treats, among other themes, the divided self, it’s not a big stretch to suppose that the title of the same writer’s next novel might have a source in his reading life as well.
I’ve already floated two possibilities, to which I’ll add a third, thanks to the eminent counsel of a friend, who wrote to say:
“the pale king” does appear (and more conspicuously than in the Tennyson example) in a famous suicide scene from a c-18th play by Hannah More, Percy.
This reference escaped me because, unlike my very widely-read friend, I had not read More–much less heard of her–before yesterday. One should always read more widely, and, apparently, More, widely. So for this edition of the weekend read, I offer you and allusive trifecta: the three sources (so far) from whence Wallace may have nabbed his title.
From More’s “Percy”—
Elwina: I wrought it for my love—there, now I’ve drest him.
How brave he looks ! my father will forgive him,
He dearly lov’d him once—but that is over !
See where he comes—beware, my gallant Percy !
Ah ! come not here, this is the cave of death,
And there’s the dark, dark palace of revenge !
See, the pale king sits on his blood-stain’d throne !
He points to me—I come, I come, I come.
(She faints, they run to her; DOUGLAS takes up his sword, and stabs himself.)
Douglas: Thus, thus I follow thee.
Edric: Hold thy rash hand.
Douglas: It is too late. No remedy but this Could med’cine a disease so desperate.
—the complete text of which you can download here.
As to those other sources mentioned before. There’s Edward Bulwer Lytton Lytton’s “King Arthur”—
Forests of emerald verdure spread below,
Through which proud columns glisten far and wide,
On to the bark the mourner’s footsteps go;
The pale King stands by the pale phantom’s side;
And Lancelot sprang—but sudden from his reach
Glanced the wan skiff, and left him on the beach.
—which you can download here.
And from Tennyson’s “Idylls of the King”—
…when the dolorous day
Grew drearier toward twilight falling, came
A bitter wind, clear from the North, and blew
The mist aside, and with that wind the tide
Rose, and the pale King glanced across the field
Of battle: but no man was moving there …
—which you can download here.
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.’”
Freddie Gray’s relatives arrived for the trial in the afternoon, after the prep-school kids had left. By their dress, they seemed to have just gotten off work in the medical and clerical fields. The family did not appear at ease in the courtroom. They winced and dropped their heads as William Porter and his fellow officer Zachary Novak testified to opening the doors of their police van last April and finding Freddie paralyzed, unresponsive, with mucus pooling at his mouth and nose. Four women and one man mournfully listened as the officers described needing to get gloves before they could touch him.
The first of six Baltimore police officers to be brought before the court for their treatment of Freddie Gray, a black twenty-five-year-old whose death in their custody was the immediate cause of the city’s uprising last spring, William Porter is young, black, and on trial. Here in this courtroom, in this city, in this nation, race and the future seem so intertwined as to be the same thing.
Average speed of Heinz ketchup, from the mouth of an upended bottle, in miles per year:
After studying the fall of 64,000 individual raindrops, scientists found that some small raindrops fall faster than they ought to.
The Playboy mansion in California was bought by the heir to the Twinkie fortune, and a New Mexico man set fire to his apartment to protest his neighbors’ loud lovemaking.
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“Matt was happy enough to sustain himself on the detritus of a world he saw as careening toward self-destruction, and equally happy to scam a government he despised. 'I’m glad everyone’s so wasteful,' he told me. 'It supports my lifestyle.'”