This morning surfing during breakfast produced a program summary, "Multiple murders muddle Matlock's seaside sojourn." Wonderful! All that alliteration arked back to our AngloSaxon beginnings, reminding me of the cliched Buddhist T-shirt slogan: Front: "What did the Buddhist say to the hot dog vendor?" Back: "Make me one with everything." Anyway, most people know alliteration only from tongue twisters, but it was even the way Old English verse forms were constructed, very evident in our first literature as in Beowulf (which has become popular again, whether in modern opera, John Gardner's modern novel Grendel, or the Antonio Banderas movie, The Thirteenth Warrior); and one of my very favorite modern poets, Auden, used it extensively, partially because of its long historical roots in our language.
Likewise, I ran across two other sentences producing the same kind of delight, though not alliterative. One is from Matthew Sharpe's hilarious experimental novel--too rowdy and bawdy for most, I suspect--Jamestown, a post-apocalyptic version told in alternating chapters by Johnny Rolfe and Pocahontas, this example from Pocahontas: "On this evening's menu is me telling you about the pre-hunt pep rally that just happened and that always happens around a fire in the center of town on the night before all the guys in town--most of the guys in town--the popular guys in town--the physically strong guys in town--the aggressive guys in town--the normal guys in town go on the hunt." (She sees right through males, especially the macho maniacs.)
The other example was from Marisha Pessl's Special Topics in Calamity Physics, which just came in the mail and which I opened, like John Cage using the I Ching, to another serendipitous style: "It was obvious the Bluebloods, including Nigel and Lu, approached sex as if it were cute little towns they had to whizz through in order to make good time on their way to Somewhere (and I wasn't so sure they knew their final destination)."
And I've just sent off a copy of one of my very, very favorite books to Kay Koftan, David Mitchell's Black Swan Green, stuffed full of stylish trophies, such as these: "Dad's a pair of scissors at times. Snip snip snip snip." "Dad's 'DID YOU HEAR ME?' was like a brick through a window. Julia and me jumped. 'Yes Dad.' "
"The cold poked me awake. I didn't know where or who or when I was . . . . The pain in my foot had gone but my head didn't feel right, like a crow'd flown in and couldn't get out."
"Bluebells swarmed in pools of light where the sun got through the trees. The air smelt of them. Wild garlic smelt of toasted phlegm. Blackbirds sang like they'd die if they didn't. Birdsong's the thouhts of a wood."
" 'OPEN UP! OPEN UP!' holler door knockers. 'OR I'LL BLOW YOUR HOUSE DOWN!' Bells're shyer. Bells're 'Hello? Anyone home?' The vicarage had a knocker and a bell and I'd tried both, but still nobody answered."
"The old lady's rivery eyeballs chased the words across the pages."
Who could not have a great day reading our words spun into clothes of gold and silver for our delight?
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