Anvil in a Lace Bootie

One day a long time ago Simple Septimus, the stable boy, asked his master, ‘What is the sun?’

‘A great ball of fire,’ replied the master.

‘Where does it go at night?’ said Septimus.

‘Underneath to its golden palace where it rests and takes refreshment. Now get back to work,’ said the master.

I would like to see that palace, thought Septimus. The door to Underneath must be over the mountain there where the sun goes down.

Without another thought, for more than a single thought was rarely entertained by Septimus, he marched from the stables to the manor gate and out across the valley toward the mountain. When the sun dove behind the peak, Septimus had merely reached the foothills. He dug a trench and slept in it. He sat up puzzled in the morning, for there was the sun climbing up the sky way over there on the other side of the world from the mountain.

Ah, he thought, the sun leaves its palace to start the day over there, but enters the palace over here at the end of the day. I’ll get to the door over the peak before the sun does. I’ve got a good head start.

Pleased, he rushed up the mountain, resting only occasionally when he fell exhausted. At the top of the mountain, he paused and rubbed his chin.

I’ll need a boat, he thought, watching the sun sink at the far edge of a vast ocean he had never dreamed possible.

By the time 60 years had passed, Simple Septimus had become Septimus, the Sun Chaser. His long tangled white beard he wore in a braid thrown over his shoulder. His clothes were tattered, his feet bare. His eyes glittered strangely. Wolves brought him food, as did bears and villagers. Sometimes villagers asked him questions or made requests, for they believed him to be touched with magic.

Made bold by curiosity, one day a young girl seated on a gate by a meadow as Septimus passed by asked, ‘Sun Chaser, have you really visited the sun’s golden palace Underneath?’

Septimus paused, leaned on his staff, regarded the young girl with his glittering eyes. He smiled a strange smile, a smile of bliss, and said, ‘I have been there. It is wonderful. Wonderful.’

Then he walked on.

Many of the writers I admire are like happy toddlers with pail and shovel set loose in the sandbox of language.

Then the water, first slithering, then tumbling, gushed us apart…

Here we have a very fine sentence indeed from Bainbridge’s Every Man For Himself, a sinking of the Titanic novel.

The other operators at the phone company always gave Alice plenty of space and would in fact pin themselves against the wall in order to give Alice ample room to pass by.

Alice Fenwick, posing here, wore this costume:

a. daily when working as a long distance operator for the phone company.

b. almost as often as she wore her daffodil costume.

c. in public to humiliate her teenage daughter, Gwen.

d. in a failed attempt to rule all butterflies.

When Mooncladdle Smith had finally had it up to here with his name, he legally changed it to Mooncladdle Popcornhead.

Arthur Peckham describes meeting the giant for the first time in an excerpt from THE GIANT: A Once Upon A Time Tale Of California And Nevada.

I met the giant in Pasadena. I was playing Prince Charming in the musical ‘Into The Woods’ by Stephen Sondheim. Remember that one? I was The Wolf, too. Dual role. The giant was watching me do that and came back after to invite the whole cast to eat Chinese food with him. He said he’d come on a mission of peace. Said he was a cousin of the lady giant we’d killed in the play and was inviting us to break bread with him to show that giants and little people could live together in peace. It was the first time I saw the grins. The grins happened to people’s faces when they saw the giant. I wore one, too. Hey, it’s what you do. Struck dumb grins and nervous laughter. He was beyond huge. On TV he looked big enough running up and down the court towering over seven footers, leaping and slamming his famous jackknife dunks. Being in the same room with him faded everything else to a blur. He was there, crisp and clear, a massive titan, filling a lot of space. He wore a loose shiny green silk blouse which swam with each gesture of those hands, those pinch-your-head-off-with-thumb-and-forefinger-if-I-wanted-to hands. I can tell you there are certain slender women who could wear his wedding ring as a bracelet. That ring, silver, turquoise and diamonds, glittered at me. I followed it with my eyes, and it rested gently on the shoulder of her. Black ringlets of hair and eyes a blue which made drab the ring shot a bolt of lightning up my spine. She looked straight at me. I adjusted my grin to a smile and accepted her complimentary review of my performance. She was Sylvie, wife of the giant called, of course you know, Norton Horton. She was tiny, a toy princess.

Loon: The Lords of the 4th Dimension tell me they’ll be sending a frontiersman named Mike Fink for the 3 question interview. I see no sign of Mr. … oh, wait. Here he is. (Fink’s ghost materializes.) Welcome, Mr. Fink. Tell me, what sort of a frontiersman were you?

Fink’s ghost: Why, I was the roughest, toughest, polecat-stranglingest, king of the riveriest, mountain leveling with blows of my giant fistsiest, orneriest, strongest man or beast, dead or alive, ever to tie snakes together to make a belt and mix leftover bear parts to drink with hot buttered tar and bricks. That’s who I am, pipsqueak.

Loon: Oh. On what frontier did you station yourself?

Fink’s ghost: You name it, I was there, bigger, taller, faster, smarter than any 5 puny pipsqueaks stuffed together in barrel hoops. And I done it, too.

Loon: Done … er, did what?

Fink’s ghost: Used to clump 5 pipsqueaks together in barrel hoops and troll for whales. Caught me quite a few, punched ’em silly, and sent ’em off as minnows. Haw! Haw! Haw!

Loon: That’s all for today. (races from room)

Fink’s ghost: Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! (eventually fades away, vehemently laughing)

The firmaments of air and sea were hardly separable in that all-pervading azure; only, the pensive air was transparently pure and soft, with a woman’s look, and the robust and man-like sea heaved with long, strong lingering swells, as Samson’s chest in his sleep.

Herman grooving in Moby Dick