Brain Pain discussion

This discussion covers Pages 1001-1215: Finishing Dying Grass and Epilogue: "Dinosaurs and Cycads."
Conclusions/Book as a whole.

At a few points I thought that there were apparent contradictions and inconsistencies in some narrative elements. But a somewhat jarring one seemed to come just when Miles reports that he has parlayed with Joseph (and rolled him in rugs to keep on ice for a night). This didn't accord with the Indian account which came before it. However, in the chapter that followed, the Indian account now agrees with this event. So maybe there wasn't such a contradiction... maybe.

But, in light of the "Disconnected Pictures" theme, and also considering that events of history often have contrary accounts that can't be fully reconciled, I thought perhaps Vollmann is allowing disjointed and somewhat inconsistent presentation to crop up from time to time. It put me in mind of the Icelandic Saga of the Volsungs, which contains elements which probably arose from different tellings of the stories of Sigfried/Sigurd, which the author included without attempting to rationalize them or smooth out the transitions... also similar to how Niebelungenlied can't be fully comprehended because it embraces rather than effaces the inconsistencies of various source tales.

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Oh yeah, and Doc cropped again, magically, again, now in with Miles's bunch! He's almost a wicked everpresent Odin (which puts me in mind of Europe Central where Odin/Old Dude made a surprise appearance in the field).

Zadignose wrote: "But, in light of the "Disconnected Pictures" theme, and also considering that events of history often have contrary accounts that can't be fully reconciled, I thought perhaps Vollmann is allowing disjointed and somewhat inconsistent presentation to crop up from time to time..."

Vollmann certainly plays with the inconsistent nature of "history" throughout his Seven Dreams series. On balance, I think most of history, might be better called "story", since the facts are a matter of the opinion of the story-teller. Maybe a kind of inevitable screen memory situation (à la Freud) where the story teller/historian is telling the version most comfortable/convenient for their own purposes.

Yes, I think you're right about that. It's a departure from what we expect of fiction, including historical fiction, as we usually expect it to smooth the edges and conform the "facts" to the thesis... I.e., do the "screening" for us without letting us peek at the man behind the curtain.

My God, my loathing for Chapman and James Reuben is unbounded, particularly after they reach the "Hot Place." I don't want atrocity committed, but if it is committed, they are the two most deserving victims now. I'd like to murder them with my own hands.

Meanwhile, the description of conversion from the point-of-view of Joseph and the Indians was quite well done. I've never quite seen it as so repulsive and degrading as when, in context, we come to understand that they must submit to drinking Jesus' blood.

I had glimmers of hope and optimism even in the face of what I knew would be the inevitable conclusion of the military campaigns, and I felt at least some... I dunno, vicarious pride or positive sense... thinking, upon the surrender, that at least Joseph remained honorable... even though he was never effectual in preventing conflict or averting blunders and disaster, he still has a heroic character for never having become vicious, never having really been wrong (passive, yes, wicked, no). But when we get to the degradation and abuse of life in captivity, and all the continuing losses and sufferings, it's hard to retain a sense that being good in the face of evil is any kind of consolation.

Now I cling to the very slight glimmers of "happy" news that come, as when the minor character Star Doctor manages an escape to Umatilla territory, to marry 25 wives. We're never very much invested in him, until we can appreciate him as one of the only "winners" in this game.

(I'm still approaching the final pages, not there yet, so I'm sure I can get punched in the heart a few more times before it's over).

Oh, yeah, I was also happy at least to see Sitting Bull behaving generously even if it was of no real material consequence to the large majority of Nez Perce, and it was laced with the painful reflection that, if only they could have joined forces and united in their interests a year or so earlier, things could have turned out much better.

Fatalism comes back to bite in the last few pages of the novel, but as usual with Vollmann, it seems he's giving us something to think over--he's not necessarily advocating a fatalistic outlook even as he presents it. And, even if we do accept the extinction of Indian culture and the near extinction of the people as fated, it is no less tragic and no less morally offensive for that.

I think that Vollmann, in presenting this tale, confronts us with the challenge of seeing how we are morally culpable, and suggests that questions of honor do matter, even in the midst of practically unavoidable historical cataclysms. Just as, on a microcosmic scale, what we choose to do in our own lifetimes does matter regardless of the fact that we and everyone we meet are sure to ultimately die. Death does not have to lead to nihilism. But Manifest Destiny only allows an act or a life to be meaningful to the degree that it contributes to an inhumane, automatic "progress."