FROM THE DESK OF RICK VIGOROUS:
---LENORE: We could ask the waiter to the turn the air conditioner down...
RICK: Lenore, I'm a sweaty man regardless of external conditions. I could be frozen in ice for thousands of years and then unearthed perfectly preserved and perfectly perspiring.
LENORE: Maybe they have a bucket or a towel in the back.
RICK: Let's cease our discussion of my fluid production for a moment.
LENORE: Okay. So what do you recommend?
RICK: That you and I should date. Perhaps indefinitely.
LENORE: Huh? I was talking about the menu.
RICK: The squid is good.
LENORE:...
RICK: Can I tell you a story?
WAITER: Good evening. Do you know what you'd like?
RICK: To possess another human being... and the ribeye
WAITER: Very good sir. And for you, miss?
LENORE: The squid.
RICK: Okay so here's a story which I think is quite relevant to my recent suggestion.
LENORE: Is this from a manuscript?
RICK: Yes. Anyway, it's from another sad college student and of course you received my letter lamenting the number of college students writing long, sad, convoluted stories. This story, however, is particularly sad, but not for obvious reasons: there's no real tragedy, unfortunate circumstances, or pathetic characters to wring sympathy out of the reader.
LENORE: So what's so sad about it?
RICK: The absence of struggle is conspicuous. We're presented with an idyllic relationship between a man and a woman who completely understand and love each other. We watch as they do normal things: grocery shopping, driving in the car, having dinner, making love (and the man isn't impotent... not once), and discussing their plans for the future which include travel, children, perhaps another home. It's all perfect.
LENORE: I must be missing something...
RICK: In many manuscripts, everything I just described would serve as set up to some great fall or discovery. For example, after all this, we find out that the man's having an affair, or the woman, or both and then we watch as their idyllic life crumbles around them. Or maybe we'd go further into the future and discover that they're inexplicably unable to conceive, or there's a miscarriage, and the whole thing falls apart... some kind of conflict or struggle - something.
LENORE: But there's nothing?
RICK: Nothing. The manuscript ends with the couple going on a rural weekend retreat with some close friends.
LENORE: Perhaps the tragedy happens at the retreat? A bear attack? A hunting/boating accident? And we're just left to wonder when the hammer is going to fall...
RICK: Interestingly, your reaction is similar to mine and it also illustrates what's so sad about this story.
LENORE:...
RICK: That we're conditioned to expect, perhaps even - on some subconscious level - demand the worst. The sad part of the story is that the reader can't accept something flawless and is utterly dissatisfied by the end - thankless for the sublimity in which the reader was immersed for the duration of the story.
Lenore: Of course we can't accept that - it's preposterous. Life is full of struggle and if art imitates life -
RICK: You're taking the easy way out. Consider for a moment that life is full of struggle because we insist that it's full of struggle.
LENORE: That sounds like something Wittgenstein or my grandmother would say -
RICK: Nevertheless. Consider.
LENORE: Considering... and no: we could walk down the street and see struggle or just eavesdrop on a conversation in this restaurant and hear how unhappy two people are together.
RICK: I'm not suggesting that if we simply didn't have a word for struggle then we'd globally leap into some utopian existence, but why shouldn't it be possible for just two people to be together and not struggle. Why does that repulse us?
Lenore: Ask the author.
RICK: I'm not sure the author even knew what he was writing. If I had to guess, then I'd wager that we're presented such a catalogue of perfection as an escape from the author's angst-ridden life - which, I must say, is a refreshing departure from angst-ridden authors who write angst-ridden stories. At any rate, I sincerely doubt he meant to evoke this meta-reading experience. Again, why is this portrayal of domestic bliss worthy of scorn and derision, even as an exception?
LENORE: I don't know. How was this relevant to your sudden suggestion that we date?
RICK: I don't know.
LENORE: Did you reject the manuscript?
RICK: Absolutely. No one wants to read that sort of thing.
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