This week ’s New Yorker features a new story by the passkey of postmodern alienation , George Saunders . In “ Escape from Spiderhead , ” a man name Jeff serves as a French Guinea bull for a love potion … and then things get really weird .
“ Spiderhead ” is in many ways your received George Saunders level — the protagonist is a guy who ’s almost completely devoid of distinguishing characteristics , there ’s institutional cruelty so extreme , it lurches into absurdism , and civilization itself is reveal to be a kind of coercive delusion . Where “ Spiderhead ” shines , though , is in the verbal description of Jeff ’s experiences on the dear drug ED556 , especially once he consume Verbaluce ( TM ) and becomes hyper - eloquent about what he ’s get . The idea that love could just be a chemical reaction is n’t a young one , but Saunders ’ callous scientists determine more and more bizarre and Zimbardo - esque way of quiz that estimation .
Here ’s how it starts :
“ Drip on ? ” Abnesti said over the P.A.
“ What ’s in it ? ” I tell .
“ uproarious , ” he said .
“ Acknowledge , ” I said .
Abnesti used his remote control . My MobiPak ™ whirred . presently the Interior Garden looked really nice . Everything seemed tops - unclouded .
I articulate out loud , as I was imagine to , what I was feeling .
“ Garden calculate nice , ” I said . “ Super - clear . ”
Abnesti said , “ Jeff , how about we pep up those language centers ? ”
“ Sure , ” I said .
“ Drip on ? ” he say .
He added some Verbaluce ™ to the drip , and shortly I was feeling the same things but saying them better . The garden still attend nice . It was like the bushes were so tight - seeming and the sun made everything stand out ? It was like any moment you expect some Victorians to stray in with their cups of tea . It was as if the garden had become a kind of embodiment of the domestic dreaming eternally intrinsic to human cognisance . It was as if I could suddenly distinguish , in this contemporary vignette , the ancient corollary through which Plato and some of his contemporaries might have strolled ; to wit , I was sensing the eternal in the ephemeral .
you could scan the rest at the link . [ The New Yorker ]
Top figure : I Modi byBill Armstrong .
BooksDrugsTesting
Daily Newsletter
Get the best technical school , scientific discipline , and culture intelligence in your inbox day by day .
news show from the time to come , pitch to your present .
Please select your desired newssheet and submit your e-mail to promote your inbox .
You May Also Like
