"Confessions of A Crap Artist (1975)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dick Phillip K) nitwit beliefs and opinions... an outcast from
our society, a totally marginal man who sees everything from the outside only and hence must guess as to what's going on. In the Dark Ages there was an Isidore of Seville, Spain, who wrote an encyclopedia, the shortest ever written: about thirty-five pages, as I recall. I hadn't realized how ignorant they were then until I realized that Isidore of Seville's encyclopedia was considered a masterpiece of educated compilations for a hell of a long time. It came to me, then, back in the '50's, to wonder, What if I created a modern-day Isidore, this one of Seville, California, and had him sort of write something for our time like that of Isidore of Seville, Spain? What would be the analog? Obviously, a schizoid person, a loner, like my protagonist. But underneath, most important of all, I wanted to show that this ignorant outsider was a man, too, like we are; he has the same heart as we, and sometimes is a good person. In reading the novel over now, I am amazed to find that I agree even more that Jack Isidore of Seville, California, is no dummy; I am amazed to see how, below the surface of gabble which he prattles constantly, he has a sort of shrewdly appraising subconscious which sees maybe very darkly into events, but shit--as I finished the novel this time I thought, to my surprise, Maybe ol' Jack Isidore is right! Maybe he doesn't just see as well aswe do, but in fact--incredibly, really--somehow and somewhat better. In other words, I had sympathy for him when I wrote it back in the '50s, but now I have I think even more sympathy, as if time has begun to vindicate Jack Isidore. His painfully-arrived-at opinions are in some strange, beautiful way lacking in the preconceptions which tell the rest of us what must be true and what must not be, come hell or high water. Jack Isidore starts with no preconceptions, takes his information from wherever he can find it, and winds up with bizarre but curiously authentic conclusions. |
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