Page 306: "My lessons on the Provencals were never-ending."

From page 306 of the book:  My lessons on the Provençals were never-ending.  I remembered our second dinner with Ebert, where he'd explained that Alphonse Daudet was one of many great Frenchmen to have come from this region, and like many of those great Frenchmen he had referred to his birthplace, a land dominated by the industrial and wealthy North, as if it were a joke.  Daudet later explained, and one was supposed to believe it, that his mockery was merely a ruse for his true love of the South. 

Young Alphonse Daudet

cover of "Letters from My Mill"

Another edition of "Letters from My [Wind]Mill"

Alphonse Daudet

The Windmill

Plaque with Daudet quote which explains that, in this corner of the world, it was for him a fatherland where one could find beings or places in all of his books.  I know such a reverence.  I have four such corners: Connecticut, Illinois, Queens NY, and Arlington, VA. 

Page 326 "Duncan is in his grave"

From page 326 of the book:  I took de Chambrun's diary out of the envelope.... The following pages mentioned Lincoln reciting a passage from MacBeth, act three, scene four; I could only remember a small bit of it: "Duncan is in his grave; After life's fitful fever he sleeps well; ...nothing can touch him further."

Above: Three witches, from a stage production of "Macbeth"; Orson Welles as Macbeth; play edition cover.

Better be with the dead,
Whom we, to gain our peace, have sent to peace,
Than on the torture of the mind to lie
In restless ecstasy. Duncan is in his grave;
After life's fitful fever he sleeps well;
Treason has done his worst: nor steel, nor poison,
Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing,
Can touch him further.

(Macbeth, Act III, Sc. 4)

Page 366 "Still a sacrifice. Still a misunderstood man."



From page 366 of the book:  "You know, Walt," Owen expelled, resting his head against the back of the seat, turning to me at selected intervals between looking at the roof or out into the winter gloom. "After the Civil War was over, James Longstreet realized that there was no way to make the postwar South work unless somebody gave of themselves, to work within the system, to reconstruct the South, you know. When he became a Republican, and don't forget now the Republican Party was the party of the North, he'd offered himself as that sacrifice to the Cause. He sacrificed himself, going against his Southern brethren because he believed that getting placed into key Republican positions would actually help to rebuild the burned out and bombed out homes and cities of Dixie. He felt he could help the South by working to reunite it with the North in spirit. They hated him for it. They crucified him for it! They fucking rewrote history for it. Still a sacrifice. Still a misunderstood man."

  

James Longstreet

Page 318 "...and plucked from a small pile of books...Malraux's History of France"

From page 318 of the book:  He's reading Ebert's book, I thought, and I slumped onto my bed, and plucked from a small pile of books on my window sill Malraux's History of France. My eyes glued themselves to a chapter on Louis XIV, and how "The Monarchy's Greatness Prepared the Way for Its Downfall," and Owen's eyes were glued to a small section of Ebert's The Journal of Josef S.
Note:  In this excerpt, there is a typo.  It is not Andre Malraux's History of France, but A History of France by Andre Maurois, published in 1948.  Sometimes the typist in me segments from the writer.  I apologize for the mistake. --M.Z.

"If you create an act, you create a habit. If you create a habit, you create a character. If you create a character, you create a destiny.” [A.M.]

Andre Maurois

Sir Thomas Browne - from whose work I got the title of the novel

Sir Thomas Browne
(From whose work the title of my book comes.)

Sir Thomas Browne (1605-1682) was an English author of varied works which reveal his wide learning in diverse fields including medicine, religion, science and the esoteric.  Browne's writings display a deep curiosity towards the natural world, influenced by the scientific revolution of Baconian enquiry, while his Christian faith exuded tolerance and goodwill towards humanity in an often intolerant era. A consummate literary craftsman, Browne's works are permeated by frequent reference to Classical and Biblical sources and to his own highly idiosyncratic personality. His literary style varies according to genre resulting in a rich, unusual prose that ranges from rough notebook observations to the highest baroque eloquence. Although he was described as suffering from melancholia, Browne's writings are also characterised by wit and subtle humour.  (Text courtesy of Wikipedia)

Browne's Hydriotaphia
(photo courtesy of Kevin Faulkner)

For further reading, I recommend this site: Aquarium of Vulcan

The works of Sir Thomas Browne have had and continue to have a profound impact on my writing and on my thinking.  As we all know, it is not uncommon for writers to title their works from a sentence or a phrase or a whisper from the great works of literature. Several writers have given their books titles from the texts of Sir Thomas Browne, as I have.

Page 386 "the Dead Sea was more active than any sparse communication we might have had"

From page 386 of the book:  I could no longer stand the gulf that ran between Owen and myself, I began to look for him.  One could say the Dea Sea was more active than any sparse communication we might have had...

[Three perspectives of the Dead Sea.]

Discovery site of the Dead Sea Scrolls

Page 403 "a story about John Adams and Thomas Jefferson"

From page 403 of the book:  "You know," I said, “you once told me a story about John Adams and Thomas Jefferson, that Jefferson kept waiting for Adams to die so that he could die in peace as well, knowing Adams wouldn't have to live alone in the world without him.  And that Adams felt the same way about Jefferson.  But when you told me they died on the same day you could've knocked me over with a feather.
  "I think Ebert and Revenant are the same kind of men," I decided.  "Like Adams was to Jefferson, and Jefferson to Adams."

John Adams, Thomas Jefferson

John Adams (one of my favorite Americans)

Illustration of the death of John Adams

Thomas Jefferson

Page 402 "...hearken to the Sirens"

From page 402 of the book:  He began to pour the remainder of the dirt from his hand and then continued: "'If therefore thou do but hearken to the Sirens, thou wilt be enamored;..."

(In Greek mythology, the Sirens were three dangerous bird-women, portrayed as seductresses who lured nearby sailors with their enchanting music and voices to shipwreck on the rocky coast of their island.)  (Text courtesy of Wikipedia)

The Bishop quotes from John Lyly [there a a few variations on the spelling of his name].

Page 398 "Lucian's body appeared on the doormat of the 115th Precinct"

From page 398 of the book:  Lucian's body appeared on the doormat of the 115th Precinct in Jackson Heights, Queens, at four o'clock in the morning on New Year's Day.  It was a mystery to the police as to who brought him.  He was covered with numerous bruises and cuts all over his face, neck, arms, hands, and legs.  His clothes were torn and saturated with dirt, blood, and grease.  It was a further mystery as to how his body was dumped in front of a police station without anyone seeing the delivery.  The desk sergeant was as angry as he was embarrassed, or he was angry because he was embarrassed, having been caught off guard with the results of an unrestrained assault placed on his doorstep under the noses of his entire staff.  He screamed for God to save him from the wrath of his captain, as he ordered Lucian to be taken to Elmhurst Hospital and admitted without delay.

The 115th Precinct, Jackson Heights, Queens, New York

Images of Jackson Heights, where I spent some of the happiest years of my life: (clockwise from top left): the subway stop at Roosevelt Ave; a typical J.H. street; under the elevated Number 7 train; a neighborhood; again under the elevated; and Elmhurst Hospital.

Page 390 "...while he drove the back streets of Flushing, around Kissena Park..."

From page 390 of the book:  In a clever, circumspect style, Sylvester had begun to ask questions about his cousin while he drove the back streets of Flushing, around Kissena Park, past Queens College, toward Grand Central Parkway. Maneuvering us away from the Long Island Expressway, due to an accident that had backed up traffic for a mile, he had kept at me with questions and accusations.
"Sylvester," I began, "I'm sorry you weren't told."
"Sorry! Being sorry is for assholes. I thought we didn't keep secrets."
"We don't," I said.
"Well?"
I looked at my driver, at his six-foot-two presence with a gentle face, mad eyes, and wet, curly black hair.
"You're right," I said. "Sorry. There haven't been secrets between us, but this time it was different."
"I don't think so," he bit his nails, keeping his eyes on the road ahead of us.
"Let me explain," I offered.

A view of Queens College

Aerial view of the Queens College campus

...past Queens College, toward Grand Central Parkway. Maneuvering us away from the Long Island Expressway,...