'Bourne' Again

So, before I get too far along into the continuing saga of Sir Spelvin-Hinchley-Sevrin-Taynor-Steenhammer-Kirby-Symonds-Judd-Henan-Brister-Dryden-Reynolds-Thane (am I forgetting any?), I wanted to comment on the absolutely out-of-control (in a good way) nature of TMMI. Now, I won't pretend to have followed all that happened (or didn't happened, or might have happened, or...), as that's just simply not possible --- at least not after one reading. And isn't Keeler's point (at least on some level) that we don't "get it?" Isn't the confounding unfollow-ability of it all half the fun (or fury, depending on your state of mind and tolerance of such strangulating serpentine constructions)? Quite often I felt (and feel) as if I have wandered deep into the forest only to have my compass shatter as I arrive into the deepest set regions. But here, unlike, say, Marceau (which, I made quite clear, frustrated me to no end --- to the point

where I felt "defeated"), there is a propulsiveness that compels one to keep moving, keep looking, as there's some hope that if we (I) do we'll find a few crumbs upon the ground or a lamp shimmering in the distance that just might lead us out (but into what?). And this is what Keeler does (mystifyingly) well: he keeps us held in his preposterous palm, even when some part (the rational?) knows that what is transpiring is absolutely ridiculous, overwrought, and downright inexplicable.

Again, some of Keeler's standard fixations rise to the fore: an obsession not just with "Orientalism," but with a strange kind of 'globalism.' I was struck by the level of nationalities (regardless of how inaccurate or borderline/blatantly insulting they might be) he brings into the mix of TMMI It is the "melting pot" bubbling up and boiling over into the wide and windy city streets of that London of the West, Chicago. This also seems to connect with his intense fixation with multiplicity (esp. regarding identity), as one never knows exactly who one is. For instance, our protagonist (mentioned with ample hyphenation above). In this way Keeler (intentionally or not) seems to be grappling with the slipperiness of identity --- the notion that the self is not a fixed, concrete thing. That it is as slippery and 'un-pin-downable' as the "case" at hand.

It reminds me of something that Sam Shephard once said about Bob Dylan:

"If a mystery is solved, the case is dropped. In this case, in the case of Dylan, the mystery is never solved, so the case keeps on. It keeps coming up again. Over and over the years. Who is this character anyway?"

File Under: Peculiar Textual Connection: On page 106 (of the Ramble House omnibus edition) I was struck by how the letter that "Dryden" writes to Guey Ming (see excerpt below) echoes Robert Ludlum's latter day amnesic spy (and his more famous cinematic equivalent), Jason Bourne, and his mission to reclaim his misplaced identity.

"Now, Ming, for God's sake, tell me for a certainty who I am. I have a suspicion now, all right; but you alone, Ming know. Tell me quick, man. These many years of amnesia haven't been a happy thing. Please Ming, please -- I beg of you to cable me back the few words that will put my mind to rest."

However, no sooner than we can utter "Aha," Keeler (over the closing pages and early passages of the follow-up) finds other ways to further complicate and upend the protagonist's (and our) search to discover who he truly is and what this is all really about.

Back into the breach.