On Research
When
you speak of those who comment on popular fiction, speak gently. They are
childish in their enthusiasms, these commentators. They scratch endlessly in
their gray-lighted immensity of forgotten novels, stiffing at the track of the
past.
Bits
of brown paper cling to their clothing. Their eyes are huge. Soiled papers
bulge their pockets, notes scribbled in the stacks. For they have had valuable
insights and scrawled these down, so that the thoughts might not escape, not
one – although how easily blurted these are when transmitted from thought to
the written word.
Speak
gently of these commentators. Their thoughts are not of this present. Their
bodies consume dinners and feel the sun and even drive automobiles on public
highways. But their minds, all interlocked with speculations on the past,
balance the merits of books no one cares to read. In doing so, they achieve a
sort of dusty happiness. Their candle dwindles. But little they notice that
shrinking light. There is still another Nick Carter to read, another clue to
consider, another cracksman to emplace in the shabby mosaic of their thought.
They honor the forgotten. They search earnestly, stumbling from volume to
volume, seeking to understand what is of dubious importance. Accident guides their
minds as much as design.
Drop
a nickel in their cup and hurry by. For Heaven’s sake, hurry! That one wants to
tell you about Jimmie Dale.
A
pitiful case. See what reading does to you!
Excerpted
From YESTERDAY’S FACES, Volume 1 –
“Glory
Figures”, by Robert Sampson (1983)
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