Schrodinger’s Third Answer

I know we touched on it a bit in class, but I can’t stop thinking about the meaning behind the cat just being gone from the box. I/m not too well-versed in Schrodinger’s experiment, but just the concept that it happened in the short story keeps coming back to me (am I Rover, obsessing over this? who knows).

The thought that limiting oneself to two choices is, actually, not all there is is kinda intriguing to me. What we thought had obvious answers becomes wrong, and a third choice is shown to us. I think I find comfort in that fact? Outside of Schrodinger’s experiment’s scope, that is. I don’t know if it’s because I can be indecisive, or if I think about the cat, free from its box of choices (is there a third option here, too?).

I think I’m just left to simmer here with this. Nothing is black and white, yes or no, despite appearances. The cat is clever and does what it wants, so if it wants to leave the box, it leaves.

Feeling restricted as a reader

With this class coming to an end, I have been thinking through all the literature we have read and discussed. And with that in mind, I think my favorite books have been Water & Power and Housekeeping. However, prior to this class I probably would have never been open to picking those two books up and giving them a read in my own time. That isn’t necessarily because of the books makeup, structure, or plot; it is purely because of genre. I know that it is just human nature to read and do things that we inherently like of course. However, I do not want to feel stagnant in that while looking for books to pursue interest in for the future. I am a psychological thriller/horror or poetry junkie. It never gets any further than that range. However, I do not think there is anything inherently wrong with always reading what interests you because it is a good thing to know you can fall back on when looking for a good new book. But all I can say is I could not put Housekeeping down for the life of me. I became so engulfed in the story and the author’s writing style and I hope in the future to not feel so restricted to things I just am used to. I think it would be good for me and anyone for that matter to attempt to go out of your comfort zone to read and invest time in new things. And this is obviously a pretty easy concept to try new things, but I think this class just helped to reaffirm that for me and remind me of that too honestly. I haven’t read a book that I could not put down like I did with Housekeeping in a long time and I think that in itself says something.

Peter Pinguid Society’s Response

Barthelme argues that fragmentation is the only way by which the reality of life can be conveyed. Life is a messy, convoluted, and multi-faceted experience, and any attempt to provide and order any meaning through the linking of events through a single viewing lens puts a filter of fantasy over the experience of life which is ultimately unhealthy for a reader. This fantastical idea that everything will fall into place with enough information to create some greater meaning for the one who knows everything presents the world in a way that can never be lived up to; this way of viewing life sets people up for failure. Truth is found not in the way that events come together but in the way that they remain separate and intrinsically un-joinable. Barthelme asserts that life is messy and that it is reductive to view it as anything less.

Both books embody this thinking of Barthelme in different ways. The work of Lily Hoang titled “A Bestiary” is written as if a reader was able to open the mind of the speaker and view what their mind remembered during the presentation of the story. There is almost never in the book a thought that sees a conclusion; the reader’s viewing of memory is always interrupted as they are passed to a new vision. Over the course of the book’s narrative, the reader is never told how each part comes together to form some kind of whole, and so at the end where Hoang seemingly stops writing without presenting a single magic lens to reveal the hidden message of the book, every piece remains separate, but it is from this disconnected state that a reader can derive meaning. This reflection of a lived life through dis-jointed pieces tells the reader that this is something they could experience.

The work of Steven Dunn titled “Water & Power” presents the reality of life to a reader by the way it acknowledges that one person cannot ever have all of the answers and can never see the whole perspective. Even though the author creates the illusion of realism in the book as indicated by both the evidence presented to the reader and by the disjointed narrative, Dunn also clearly uses different accounts to present more sides on the issue. Where Hoang could have multiple perspectives in the form of different presentations of herself and through the folk stories she presents, Dunn attaches implied names and numbers to suggest that multiple voices are all in conversation. By the nature of multiple voices, the fragmentation of the true story split between different lenses, the reader is inclined to buy into the realism of the book. Dunn’s narrative does offer a magic lens to have everything fall into place, but because it is brought about through the combination of singular lenses, it works. There is no feeling of fantasy to the truth that is brought about in Dunn’s work.

The illusion of realism is what makes these works have the weight they do. Without the illusion of life brought about by fragmentation, the lessons have an element of superficiality to them as the reader asks themselves if the revelation was only possible because the narrative’s structure made it so. The nature of realism also encourages a reader to look at their own lives not as the main character, as someone who has all the answers and to whom each event has significance and meaning, but as a part of a whole. Life is messy by nature of so many people belonging to the same experience, and it is healthy and essential that people realize they are one of many voices, and Barthelme believes that true literary realism is one way to encourage this learning. It is a way but is it the only way, or even the right way, to view the expression of realism and the importance of its purity of expression?

Fragmentation does give the ability to look at a variety of different perspectives within an individual work, but while it can be argued that these fragmented perspectives and fragmented details are giving a more accurate representation of life, we must also realize that we do not know what it is that we’re missing. Even with works such as Dunn’s and Hoang’s it is still important to note that there is no way to ever fully reveal all perspectives or to reveal all of the thoughts that pass through the writer’s mind as they write. This disjointed narrative creates, if anything, a deceptive quality, one that suggests to the reader that they are receiving all of the information they need to continue reading, as well as giving off the idea that they will be rewarded for their attempts and will be able to piece the puzzle together on their own. As well and good as it is to read something fragmented, and that is suggesting to us the idea of balance, we are still at the mercy of the writer, and how we know what they choose to add in and what they choose to leave out is unknown to us. Taking Dunn’s work Water & Power as an example we see a story brought together by various perspectives, yet a majority of these perspectives fall very much in line with an anti-military narrative, and this may be true, a good portion of the Navy may absolutely hate their experience, but can we really know this based off of Dunn’s work alone? Not really. We don’t know exactly how many people he interviewed, and we don’t know how many of those stories made it into the book, after all, this is a work that had to be curated, the pieces that were eventually published in the final work were chosen. Similarly, Hoang’s book is curated, we don’t know how much we can trust, we don’t know if what she is presenting to us is carefully curated for a certain purpose. While Barthelme can say that fragmentation is the only way to describe life, he seems to be assuming that there is no fault found with this presentation. As if life can only be seen in a fragmentary way, and that nobody can view their life as though it were running along a string.

I disagree with Barthelme’s opinion that the fragmented narratives offer no real conclusions at the end of the books. I believe that Lily Hoang and Steven Dunn both have a character arc at the end of their stories. In A Bestiary, Lily jumps back and forth in time of the memories she has had of her family, friends, romantic partners, and her work life. Throughout the book, Lily brings up essays on rats, fairytales, and the myth of the white tiger as they all tie in with the central narrative. By the end of the book, Lily creates her own version of the Three Little Pigs by having three women kick Prince Charming out of the house. Lily learns to celebrate her own independence and realizes that she does not need a Prince Charming in her life.

In Steven Dunn’s Water & Power, Steven holds a collection of soldier’s and soldier’s wives he has interviewed, rape allegations, relationships with strippers and sex workers, volunteer work, memories of returning home, and other stories that represent Navy life. The entire book is an experimental collage of the many experiences people in the Navy go through. The book ends with a war bombing in Asmanzai and a 23 paged list of people who killed Iraqi civilians. In other words, the book makes the conclusion that you cannot justify the actions of war.

The question presented does indeed pose many good inquiries for the future for looking at the set up of a piece of literature and the way an author decides to tackle storytelling, whether it brings in realism and fragmentation. The structure of a novel can really completely change whether it is classified as being an entirely realism-based story. Barthelme argues that fragmentation is the only way by which the reality of life can be conveyed. Both A Bestiary by Lily Hoang and Water & Power by Steven Dunn represent Barthelme’s way of thinking in different ways. The book A Bestiary is written in a way that makes the reader feel like they can see the narrator’s process of remembering. On the other hand, Water & Power presents itself to the reader by acknowledging that one person cannot have all of the answers or accurately represent the whole perspective. By the nature of multiple voices, the fragmentation of the true story split between different lenses, the reader is inclined to buy into the realism of the book. This reflection of a lived life through dis-jointed pieces tells the reader that this is something they could experience. This fragmented portrayal does give the reader the ability to look at a variety of different perspectives within an individual work. While it can also be argued that these fragmented perspectives and fragmented details are giving a more accurate representation of life, the reader must also realize that there is no way to tell what is missing or intentionally being left out. It is important to acknowledge that there is no way to fully reveal all perspectives or to reveal all of the thoughts that pass through the writer’s mind as they write. While Barthelme can argue that fragmentation is the only way to describe life, he seems to be overlooking any issues with that form of presentation. Thus, it makes sense to seemingly take a more neutral stance to the presented analysis at hand.

Tequila Mockingbird Group Response

We spent some time trying to decide if we agreed with Barthelme’s assertion that realism is a lie and that only fragments are trustworthy, and we came up with mixed opinions. Sometimes we thought we saw what he was saying, and that he might have a point, and sometimes we thought he made no sense.

One reason we had to disagree with Bathelme was that, in our experience with A Bestiary and Water & Power, the fragmented format allowed the author to incorporate more elements of fiction. Where a more conventional realist story might stick to what actually happened, the reader of the fragmented story is much less certain about what they’re reading; it could be a literal recounting of something that actually happened, or a true story exaggerated for effect, or a completely fictional story. Many of the fictional elements in A Bestiary are obvious, written like fables or legends, but in Water & Power they’re a little sneakier. The ongoing story about the Taxidermy museum is completely fictional—there is no such place—but it’s written in a way that feels plausible, without much differentiation from the truer elements of the book. The presence of these fictional sections means it’s a bit harder to tell what’s true.

Another disagreement we had with Barthelme is with the idea that a traditional narrative structure is less real than fragments. There are longer sections in both books that read like complete stories, with beginnings, middles, and ends. The section of Water & Power entitled “A Break from the Navy: Home on Leave” gives an account of the narrator’s experience at home for three weeks. The section feels very honest and personal, and it seems wrong to say that just because it feels more like a complete story it’s somehow less true.

During our discussion, our group also decided that it is entirely possible that Barthelme’s assertion about fragments could be true in some cases. One could argue that a story that allows itself to incorporate elements of the untrue ends up being more honestly representative. Take, for instance, the fragments about the Taxidermy Museum of Military Heroes in Water & Power. This story that is pieced together throughout the book depicts exactly what one would think: a frankly horrifying account of the narrator volunteering at a museum filled with taxidermied human bodies, men and women that had died during service overseas and then flown back into the United States to be put on display as a sort of militant propaganda. As grim as it sounds, no such museum actually exists, so we know that whatever happens during these sections isn’t entirely true, but it’s the lesson behind them that matters. Dunn uses fiction to show his audience the “truth” about how the US Military regards their service members, dead or alive.

We also see bits of fictitious fragmentation in A Bestiary with different Chinese legends that are woven into the narrative. The stories of the white tiger on page 30, and of the Tiger and the Rabbit on page 48, are both myths filled with magical elements and talking animals, so it’s safe to assume that they are not “real” accounts, but they were placed within the story to help the audience gain further insight into the reality of the narrator. Oftentimes these fragments come across in a more stream-of-consciousness style of writing, telling the story in not necessarily a truer way, but in a way that connects to a different aspect of the human experience. Events do happen in life like how they are written (that is to say, chronologically and in a way that we consider normal or traditional), but this style of writing shows a different form of truth, something that more closely resembles the narrator’s thought processes rather than a specific series of events. Even though it’s not a form of writing that we as an audience are always used to, that doesn’t mean that it’s not showing us some kind of reality.

There are many ways to look at this, which is part of the reason why so many people have spent so much time talking about it, and why we spent so much time discussing it both in and out of class. In the end, it is a topic with a lot of nuance. There are some out there that don’t think that art can ever carry any real truth, that something will always be lost in the retelling. While that may be true, the authors behind both A Bestiary and Water & Power have put thought and effort into trying to convey their realities to others, and they did so through using these fragments that Barthelme talks about in conjunction with the more straightforward style of writing that he puts them in opposition to. While definite, objective truth is certainly hard to come by, it is good to try to convey your version of it, through whatever means seem to fit.

The Paranoids group panel response

Both water & power and A Bestiary do not follow the plot-line of a “traditional story”, which can mean that they are more realistic in Barthelme’s definition. However, they are still organized according to the author’s goals, aka shifted from “reality”. Reading the fragments feels more real because people don’t think in story format; they think in fragments. If the books were formatted like a traditional story, they would not accomplish what they are trying to accomplish. In that sense, these formats are more “realistic” to experiences and to what the author is trying to convey. However, this sense of realism does not necessarily mean it is real. 

Dunn includes stories that are entirely made up; yet because they fit within the disjointed and fragmented narrative he is producing, they still seem “real” in a certain sense, while they may not be “realistic”. On the other hand, Dunn also includes a number of documents and pieces of historical evidence that grant his story legitimacy. They make it feel realistic as well as “real”, it is grounded and yet disjointed in what seems like a very human way. Does the same logic apply in A Bestiary, though? Does her use and inclusion of personal life-events take the place of “documents”? Are they still the historical points of “reality” that we are looking for? After all, Hoang’s work is significantly more fragmented than Dunn’s, although in each story we get a certain blend of fact and fiction that leads us to, in this groups opinion, something resembling truth. It would seem that, while Barthelme wants us to believe there is no such thing as a reliable whole, only reliable shreds, that in combining those shreds we do end up with something more cohesive than he might have us believe. For instance, in Dunn’s work, each piece is, indeed, reliable and “real” on its own, each piece takes on an entirely new meaning when placed in the context of the larger work, an idea which Barthelme does not address.

Does Barthelme overstate the case, then? There are two modes of telling a story that we have witnessed in this class: holistic, which involves the collection of the aforementioned “fragments”, and narrative format, which tells a story as we might experience it if we were there. He says that the first one is truer to reality, but Hoang has us walk through her life out of time and in this illusory half-fictional way. Is that necessarily more “real”? Is reality actually composed of multiple voices in the way Dunn portrays? As far as Barthelme’s logic is concerned, we absolutely do not experience things as a narrative might want us to believe we do. Barthelme seems to be speaking to the movement of memory as the true movement of reality, as reality only exists when perceived and recorded in memory. And aside from that, it seems that the definition of reality that Barthelme is abiding by here is a little slippery in and of itself. In both works, multiple stories and perspectives are included, undercutting what is strictly “Real” in the mind of the author, but is paradoxically more realistic because reality is contextual (and often undercut, as it is by the fictional aspects of both stories). If this truth in perception is the truth he is speaking to, it seems unclear how Barthelme would treat the injection of fiction. Then again, when these authors use fiction, it seems to be to encapsulate and represent their feelings. Is that truth? Does a metaphor count as a true “fragment”? Vexing questions aside, there is still the matter of the contemporary experience to deal with, and what that even entails anymore. Which contemporary experiences do the books deal with, or are they attempting to deal with? People may not feel like these are portraying a real world – after all, according to Dunn, people thought that water & power was just a “funny book”. It speaks to a limiting factor to this kind of writing, and the fact that a reader unwilling to place themselves into a text may find it inaccessible on certain levels. It is also possible to imagine people thinking of either story as being too personal to be reflective of “contemporary experience”, rather than simply a personal narrative. It is especially difficult to try and cohesively define the contemporary when we cannot even get a lock on what the definition of “reality” is, because if reality and lived experience are tied together as Bartholme seems to suggest they are, how can there be such a thing as a universal contemporary experience? The only contemporary experience that this group could agree on seems to be a lack of a set “truth” – reality as kaleidoscopic and truth as a personal matter or a matter of perception and interpretation. Dunn presents “truth” (credible reality) through documentation but his personal truth is an interpreted/constructed one, which again speaks to the inaccessibility that one might run into when reading this kind of work.

Leah, Will, Kevin, Bridget Collaborative Panel

The use of fragments in literature is what creates a sense of insecurity in a story, where a reader can only follow the fragments to try and make sense of the story unfolding before them. In two stories, Water & Power by Steven Dunn and A Bestiary by Lily Hoang, fragments are a main component of their storylines. According to novelist Donald Barthelme, there is no such thing as realism. Rather, fragmentations are a truer representation of reality. What makes reality ‘reality’ then is how that fragmentation works; it is similar to how one recalls a memory, or how one takes in new information. Even so, the idea that the fragment is the only true form of the contemporary experience excludes many other great works that have no reason to be excluded. Both of the books mentioned above use their fragmentation to add to their storylines, but a book that uses a more traditional storyline is not lesser because of this. 

In A Bestiary, author Lily Hoang employs a fragmented writing style that both presents trauma in its raw and honest form, while upholding a sense of cultural values and talk-story myths that interlace themselves with her own experience as an immigrant and a woman in America. The story contains substantial discussion of Hoang’s personal life, using a braided narrative style to continually return to differing story threads as the text progresses; also interwoven throughout her personal life are several stories and unrelated segments, including discussion about the rats, and folk legends for talk-story. This framework is rather unique for a memoir, as it presents her life’s story in a very disjointed, and seemingly disconnected method—by presenting the narrative in such a fragmented manner, Hoang enables the reader to view multiple components of her life at different times, and from different perspectives. This sort of holistic perspective, when we learn about the lives of others through fragmented bits and pieces, rather than seeing a complete picture or sequential chain of events of some kind, is similar to Barthelme’s theory, and as a whole, it presents a very fragmented, complete perspective of Hoang’s life.

Water & Power by Steven Dunn takes the form of a collage. By including fragments and stories from various interview subjects, graphic narratives, graphs, a crappy powerpoint presentation on sexual assault prevention, photography from overseas, etc. Dunn presents his readers with a widespread and generally very truthful account of inherited information from those that have either directly or indirectly been involved in the United States military system. Being in the style of ethnography, Steven Dunn upholds a standard of passing along a no-bullshit version of the stories that he is told—whether they be critical of the military or in full support of how it functions. The honesty of what he includes contributes to the sense of an equality of stories that may be more consumable by those that are cautious about delving into his novel. There is only one instance of fiction that presents itself; when he applies to and starts working at the Taxidermy Museum of Military Heroes. At first glance, the nonchalant inclusion of this anecdote can come across as a true personal account, but in reality it can be analysed as a critique in disguise. Although the anecdote may not be the entire truth, even this represents a criticism of the military as a system set up by the government to exploit human bodies for their own personal interests—whether that be in the name of capitalism or the protection of overseas oil production.

The use of fragmentation in both works is used in different ways, yet there are similarities between them. While Water & Power’s fragmentation is due to its use of multiple people’s stories, A Bestiary’s fragmentation is due to its single story told in moments and memories. In both, the effect that fragmentation has on a reader is noticeable. It creates an almost rushed story, while making that story difficult to put down so one is able to connect the fragments that are given to them. Water & Power and A Bestiary are fantastic examples of the fragmented story, but they are not the epitome of contemporary literature. This period of literary production is quite difficult to put in one box, just as the term “literature” cannot be described in a single, definitive statement. While literary movements are often used to categorize specific formats of writing, to only consider a book a part of only one category leaves too much space for gatekeeping and exclusion. Novels such as those discussed above offer unique experiences for a reader that offers much critical thinking, but the same can be said for other books that have traditional storytelling formats. While Barthelme has some valid points, he should offer more variety than the standard he presented. The fragmentation of Water & Power and A Bestiary is necessary for the way that they are told, but the presence of fragmentation is not necessary for contemporary literature as a whole.

They’re Doing What Now?

It is undeniable that “Water & Power” is written to direct criticism towards the military branches of the United States. The majority of the criticism is presented by way of interviews with members of the military as well as firsthand accounts from the author’s time in the Navy. All of this words offered by the people interviewed and by the author are said to be true, and these words work alongside evidence in the form of news stories about military conduct, physical handouts received while the author was in the service, photographs taken by friends, and diagrams collected by various sources as well as by the author to make the message of the book as plain to the reader as can be. There are also works of fiction tucked into the work as stated by the author which are the sections about the Museum of Taxidermy and the Haunted Drone Pilot (MT: 67-85 and 131-132, HDP: 133-137).

It is these sections of fiction that I have some questions about. The whole of the book is arranged to establish the reality of what it is like for the people in the armed services, and then the reader is presented with two pieces that break from this reality. To narrow the scope of the subject in question, I don’t have questions about the HDP sequence as it can be read as a hallucination of manifestation of guilt and sadness and could be taken from an anonymous interviewee or could be inspired by past events in history that the author was made aware of at some point in the creation process of the book. The MT sequence on the other hand is a section that I have a difficult time folding into the main argument of the book.

The issue with the MT sequence is that it is serving two opposing purposes. In the context of the book, it flows into the escalation of personal accounts so well that a reader doesn’t even question, if only for a moment, that this museum is something that exists in the real world. For a book seeking to criticize the military, it is a perfect touch to show either the reality or how believable this fiction is, and the talent required to pull this illusion off needs to be applauded. However, in a book about personal and firsthand accounts, it takes away from the credibility of the whole narrative, for if these sections are fictional and not only confined to this section as the MT sequence is broken up over the course of about 60 pages, then the reader is forced to ask themselves how much else could be fictionalized? It is such a well-executed move on the author’s part in terms of construction that it undermines itself to skeptical readers—the most important group for an argument to cater to.

This time I’d like to ask two questions: If you were writing this book in the place of Steven Dunn, would you include the pieces of fiction? And/or do you have any insight as to another way to read this rhetorical maneuver made by the author?

To get things started, if I were in the position of Steven Dunn, I would play around with a section in the MT sequence that addresses the idea of, “Wow, wasn’t it messed up how easily you/we, the reader, bought into the reality of the horrifying fiction I wrote,” as a way to delineate fact and fiction at the end to preserve the credibility I have made. And for the second part, perhaps these opposing messages from the MT sequence could be a way to propose to readers the idea of checking sources and being skeptical of information they are given, but I suppose this message would undermine the credibility built up by the author over the course of the first 60 pages and beyond the scope of the MT sections which seems counter-productive, but is an important none-the-less.

Sacrificing your personal life

I just finished reading water & power and all I can say is that military life is awful. One aspect that I found very interesting in the book is the perils of marriage. There was one interview in the book where a wife talked about how her husband is always overseas and that she has to raise their children by herself. She was basically living her life as a single parent and that sounds like a nightmare to be constantly yearning for your husband’s return, only for him to leave again in a few weeks. I am surprise how long people can tolerate long distance relationships that go on for years and years, but in the end the relationship will inevitably fall apart. Not to mention, the book mentions how the soldier’s wives sometimes cheat on them while some of the soldiers go off to strip clubs or have multiple girlfriends. It seems like long distance can really destroy the foundation of trust that you built with your partner. It does not sound like you should start a relationship with someone who you know will be gone for months or even years. It is a huge sacrifice to make if you ever decide to join the military.

Steven Dunn as a writer

I really particularly enjoyed Steven Dunn’s attitude on writer’s block. I think the mindset he presents can really help to open writer’s up to breaks and not feeling restricted with the many labels that can come within writing. I think that it is honestly a good self care exercise to practice breaks generally speaking, and to be open them as well, while not necessarily seeing them as a set back or a challenge. I want to always have that mindset with myself and I think even outside of writing it can be practiced too. Constantly restricting yourself can take away from the joy of writing and/or any forced activity for that matter. Taking breaks and validating what is best for you are good measures to be mindful of, so you’re not not overworking yourself.

I really respect Steven Dunn and I appreciate his insight on not forcing labels on things. His unconventional writing even proves this openness. I plan on reading more of his work in the future.

Conventional writing

The last couple of books we’ve read have both been very unconventional in their make up. Dunn and Hoang both do away with a seamless narrative and instead opt for one that is more fragmented and that works through multiple stories at once, creating something that can move very quickly but also something that can cover a lot of ground.

And so I’ve been thinking about this style of writing, and what it is doing for both the story and for the reader’s experience. I personally have a love/hate relationship with this writing, mostly because once my concentration is fixed on something I prefer to keep going until there is a natural stopping point or until I’m finished, and that doesn’t always work with this type of writing. For instance, it was pretty easy to get invested in some parts of Hoang’s journey, especially when she was writing about her family and in some ways I kind of wanted to finish that before reading something else, and when other pieces were put in between it sometimes felt as though I had to force a connection to make sense of things, where if they were separate parts in one book I may have drawn similar connections later on in a way that seems more natural.

But I also don’t like the idea of just doing the natural thing, and it’s nice to have a book surprise you somewhere down the line, and relegating that to the story line and abandoning the format as a way of achieving this can result in a missed opportunity. Missed, because maybe these books by Hoang and Dunn just wouldn’t be the same if they were pushed into a more common format, one that required them to give up a style that may be intended to create discomfort that equally matches their oft times discomforting subject matter. And that the fragmentation is an expression of the brokenness represented in the story.

There has been some discussion about how some poets will rearrange words to fit their poems (e.e. cummings has some examples of this), and I think that by arranging words to paint a picture, a feeling, can enhance what the author is trying to convey so that we can’t ignore the subject matter. Making it so that no matter which part of the work we are in we are continually confronted with the discomfort (or whatever feeling it may be), and refusing to let us forget what the book is all about.