Any Cyprinidae, notwithstanding.


“It was the kind of party where it was assumed that everyone knows one another and therefore no one is introduced. There are many parties like that in Palm Beach.”

Brilliant chapter, especially as I myself (D.F. Lewis) invented neo-Dada as part of the Zeroist Group in 1967. Take it or leave it, that is true.
F meets Cassidy for the first time (or last time, because how do I, the real-time literary critic, yet know?) and the utterly fascinating plot direction is set up for me, one that I shall resist divulging here, although it has something to do with an old man (does this novel actually take place in 1971 when I understand this book was first published?) and with neo-Dada.
This compelling plot direction amid — carp (if not tench, tench being important to my own philosophy) in a pool and a badly-designed sculpture of a griffin by this pool; F’s backstory, Puerto Rico, the variants on his forename, his milliner mother, his developing career as a so-called ‘incorruptible’ art critic; discussion of Matisse and Rothko; and of the ‘Degenerate Art’ exhibition in Hitler’s time; and artists arguably, for me, similar to fish in pools as fished by collectors and critics alike… “Collectors and critics live within this uneasy symbiotic relationship.” And Cassidy saying: ‘One dishonest act doesn’t make a person dishonest, not when it’s the only one he ever performs. That is, a slightly dishonest act.” And F saying (to himself if not to us readers): “Berenice makes much better coffee than I do . . .” Any Cyprinidae, notwithstanding.

The full context of my ongoing review of THE BURNT ORANGE HERESY by Charles Willeford:

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