part 29 - another field trip, the Immaculate Virgin and an axe

I can't believe this will be the second to last section I will have to convey to you - it's become quite a pleasant part of my week. Everything from re-reading your emails to me and trying to decipher your baseball analogies, to thumbing through the typewritten manuscript with the oddly frenetic red pen editing, has been very comforting. But I admit, these last few pages have been much more fun to read compared to the doldrums of the middle 80 pages where much of the joy I derived was from Rowan's eating habits (see entry re. grapefruit).

Yesterday's semi-surreal field trip has only cemented my feeling that I have absolutely no idea what is going on in this project. One minute we're trying to figure out how to make this into a book project; the next we're at the Mission of the Immaculate Virgin on Staten Island, where happy orphans used to plant beans and cabbage on the farm in order to earn their keep. Every single person we met yesterday was like a character study from a Coen Brother's movie - from the pensioners at the diner counter to the blue haired secretary, and of course Bill D'Ambrosio. And you know what else I learned? Staten Island has some very well kept turf fields - nothing like the dust bowl where kids play football in my neighborhood park.

But back to Rowan. What on earth is the point of capturing her? Why would Aunt Lucy even invite her to Pleasant Plains in the first place? What information could she possibly have that would be worth disposing of a body for? Smart villains and heroin addictions clearly do not mix. How's that for a Public Service Announcement? 'She used to be a really good villain... really knew her stuff, could torture the hell out of anyone!... but now... all she wants to do is sit there and inject smack...'

We begin my section with her about to lunge for the axe. I am clueless as to why Reshevsky has suddenly decided to release her - are her feminine wiles that great? Regardless, Reshevsky has taken on the mannerisms of the most cliched Bond criminal (or is he now a hero?) by declaring his intentions to plunge the entire greenhouse into darkness 'with one movement!'. And with that, he throws the master switch, which is Rowan's cue to grab the axe and decapitate Kee. However, Kee has already pounced at Reshevsky and chaos ensues. Rowan is ineffective (what else is new) and only manages to slam the axe into a wall, so she flees through the dark greenhouse instead, hearing gunshots on her way out... It seems as though her count is a goner.

This section does finally let the author write some flowery (hah) prose comparing the texture of Kee's skin to the waxy feel of the unseen orchid petals that brush up against her.

Rowan is trapped in the greenhouse - unable to find a way out, with a variety of Asian henchmen (yes we make awesome henchmen - in fact I'm going to start up a business 'henchmen for rent') all out to get her while Kee and Aunty Lucy yell out orders. Unfortunately in the melee, she manages to crawl towards the poisonous plant wing, the wing with no door (cue more ominous scary music)! Oleanders make another appearance, as do some stinky fungi. Just as Rowan thinks she's safe though the stench of some noxious plant threatens to overcome her...

no rest for the weary.

Part 8 - mushrooms, Occidentals and the Brooklyn Botanical Garden

Caroline,

So sorry about the delay in getting part 8 to you. In my hasty departure for Los Angeles on Friday I accidentally took the wrong sections of the manuscript with me. I just got back this morning - took the red-eye and am barely here right now. I would wait until I am more alert to give you my next section, but I feel bad that I'm behind as it is.
LA was pleasurable. We went wine tasting in Paso Robles for a day, ate at some Jack-in-the-Boxes and drove around a lot...which seems to be what one does in Los Angeles.

"Oriental" is indeed a funny way to circumscribe a group of people; you never heard the term "Occidental" thrown around even when Oriental was in its prime. And it's strange how the modifier sticks in the case of non-human things but progresses in terms of people. It kind of demonstrates some of the politics involved the ethnic nomenclature. Groups are described by color, region, and direction (so strange). I think we should define groups by time instead of place, then we could only be bigoted toward people who aren't around anymore. Imagine being time-ist toward people born before 1920....I think ideas like that are why I should avoid throwing my hat in the social ethnography ring.

That's so funny about the poisonous plant plot point (say that five times fast), because a poisonous plant show just opened at the Brooklyn Botanical Garden. I'm going to see it this weekend and get acquainted with all those sinister Oleanders.
http://www.bbg.org/exp/wickedplants/amystewart.html

My section is actually fairly packed with plot details, though it seems that mine are lacking the non-typewritten traces of our author and editor. I'll bet you get a 37 year old jelly stain....or a fingernail...or a maybe even a booger. Wow, that'd be awesome!

My first paragraph contains the following line: "She pointed out with particular pride her large assortment of mushrooms, from the familiar Death Angel that had been the bane of my biology class in high-school, to more esoteric fungi." This confused me; I couldn't tell whether the class was 'shroomin and thus became overwhelmed by the subject matter; whether they were poisoned to death, and as a result failed biology, or whether the taxonomic complexity of this family of mushrooms had alone resulted in a poor academic performance.The beginning of my section is essentially a short trip through "poisonous botany 101." The exchange about deadly plants is then interrupted by two stocky workers approaching Kee and aunt Lucy, alerting them that someone tried to break into the storage room. The two men didn't see the person trying to break in, but did see a car drive away. Lucy then gets angry and directs Ah Sing to dock the pay of the watchmen for their lax effort.

Next, we get a wonderful tell-don't-show sentiment from Rowan as she remarks about coming to her aunt's home for peace and finding only tumult and tragedy. She then notes that the events did "bring her out of herself." So, the tone shifts; the stormclouds overhead recede and the sun shines bright yellow light on the farm, the Greenhouse and its poison crop.

The final cascade of events and conversation are fairly complex, with many suggestive passages. Aunt Lucy is painted in a kinder light, and Rowan admits to warming up to her a bit. James Kee snaps at Lucy because she desires to call the police about the two successive "incidents." He suddenly seems sinister. This seems to be a Scooby Doo-like device to take the focus off Lucy and to bring in another suspect as a focal point. Rowan muses before dinner that things on the farm were getting more pleasant and when they sit down to dinner Aunt Lucy suggests that Rowan should get around the city so she's not cooped-up all summer. This raises the eyebrow of Reshevsky (literally) and brings Rowan to recall the conversation they had by the harpsichord. Rowan responds that she never planned on staying the entire summer, to which Lucy says to leave the option open. The final few lines are odd, with Reshevky quizzically, and perhaps defensively, wondering how the police could think that the events of the previous night were anything but an accident. He then says that the police have no reason to ask any of them to remain in the city.

This last line was strange because I don't remember a precedent indicating that the authorities were going to prevent anyone from leaving. I'm wondering if this becomes a Murder-by-Death type of deal, where everyone's sequestered in an old mansion and they start dropping like flies.
Whew, that's a lot to think about. A plot as thick as frozen oatmeal.

tag, you're it.
-Shane

Part 7 - 12 hour time difference, the greenhouse and poison

Dear Shane,

Occasionally one of your emails to me reads uncannily similar to as if you were sitting in that beloved Aeron chair, in front of your sparkingly clean desk, with nary a speck nor paper towel to be seen, having a ten minute ramble before going about our whatever it is that we used to do in that office. Your last email was one of those, made even more odd by the fact that we're seperated by a continent and an ocean, rather than 3 feet. That and the 12 hour time difference makes this this project wonderfully disjunctive at times.

And you're right - i have an interesting 5 pages. What i've noticed is how uncomfortable I become at having to read something mid-sentence. Like I've walked into a party that I'm not invited to, or barged into a conversation (but perhaps I'm one of the few people who care about such things... cough cough). I've also found fingerprints! I have no idea what this makes me so excited - it's not like the presence of a set of grubby fingerprints will allow us to find the author easier. But it's a great side note to any conversation one could have about the indexical trace etc. It also came on a page that was riddled with scribbles by both parties (red ink, blue ink, and pencil!).

Anyway, I'm subjected to a long meandering description of this gigantic greenhouse, which is larger than the house itself. Our Rowan wonders through the hallways herself, unaccompanied by James Kee, and comes across a variety of exotic looking plants, all tended to by my peeps. And when I say my peeps, I mean my forebearers who were all gardeners. I must admit it's very odd to see the term "Orientals" bandied about when not referring to carpets. Its neither offensive nor funny; I seriously do mean I expect to see the word 'carpet' after it.

Her aunt is somewhere in the greenhouse and Rowan goes in search of her, passing by a wooden shack that has a door marked ' Keep Out', which of course our protaganist tried to open, to no avail. In the left wing of the greenhouse, Rowan comes across a number of plants she doesn't recognize, and is startled by an old Chinese gardener brandishing a pair of sharp garden shears, who yells at her to not touch them, frightening the crap out of Rowan, who proceeds to yell for her aunt. Apparently, Ah Sing (the old gardener) was just being protective; the plants being his babies, as well as being poisonous (ah hah!! the plot thickens). One of the particularly innocent looking ones, an oleander, is apparently 'nerium indicum', which can cause something resembling a heart attack.

And I admit, i have no idea what oleander looks like but apparently it's quite common, and varieties can be deadly when ingested. check it out:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oleander

So! We have poisonous plants in a gigantic greenhouse, a locked door, a secretary who apparently chases way tourists when they come too close to the house, a potential love affair, and hoards of chinese gardeners. Dum dum dum dum..... back to you...,