The Recognitions (American Literature (Dalkey Archive))
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The book Jonathan Franzen dubbed the "ur-text of postwar fiction" and the "first great cultural critique, which, even if Heller and Pynchon hadn't read it while composing "Catch-22" and "V.," managed to anticipate the spirit of both"--"The Recognitions" is a masterwork about art and forgery, and the increasingly thin line between the counterfeit and the fake. Gaddis anticipates by almost half a century the crisis of reality that we currently face, where the real and the virtual are combining in alarming ways, and the sources of legitimacy and power are often obscure to us.
hundred seventy-odd years later a man would be laboring over his portrait with the exquisite care of love Mr. Sinisterra showed for those eyes, those lips, that shag of hair? that more than a century later his rousing battle with wealth, and the Bank of the United States, would be taken up, if on slightly different grounds, by one so covetous of anonymity as this man who stood thrusting two hundred and fifty vignettes of the seventh President into his pocket now? His wife did not turn around when
your work. —Oh, you've . . . seen it? —No, no, hardly. But I see here (motioning toward the straight easel, where a canvas stood barely figured)—that it is interesting. I am writing the art column in La Macule. Crémer's cigarette, which he had not taken from his lips since he appeared, had gone out at about the length of a thumbnail. He looked rested, assured, hardly a likely visitor at dawn. —I shall probably review your pictures next week, he added after a pause which had left Wyatt smoothing
she looked at him. —You see because . . . yes and then everything, then you'll be save . . . safe I mean, you'll be safe . . . Now . . . wait, first . . . He pressed the pain in his jaw, as though to communicate its urgency. —This, I have to take care of this first, I have to go to a dentist but then I'll come back and we, and you'll be ... all right. You see I ... we're going away . . . The question lay only in his eyes, searching the large still pupils of hers. After that he moved with
requested the Blessed Virgin Mary . . . She thrust the paper away, showing a new book titled Le. cinque fonti sanguinose nesting in her ample lap. —San Clemente! she repeated fervently. —But it was the upper church you visited? Yes, with its lovely ceiling. We knew Prior Mul-looly so well, you know. It's comforting to know it's all owned by Dominicans. Poor man, martyred by being thrown into the sea with an anchor tied around his neck. But we hope you did not descend all the way? because someone
the tweed arm. Otto freed himself and set off again, as someone in the other group said, —I'm surprised she's never been in a mess like this before. Through the smoke, among the bumping buttocks and wasted words, he arrived. She looked up and smiled. —May I get you something? he asked her. He had taken out the cigarette package and put the last remaining cigarette between his lips, which were dry. —I'm sorry, it's my last, he said, struggling to light it, and then in confusion, —Oh I'm sorry, I