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The History of Literature
720 The 25 Greatest Books of All Time - #24 "The Odyssey" by Homer | The Conclusion to F. Scott Fitzgerald's "The Diamond as Big as the Ritz" (with Mike Palindrome)
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- [00:02]
Jack Wilson
The History of Literature Podcast is a member of the podglomerate Network and Lit Hub Radio. Hey, folks, it's Jack. Here to promote something that's a little special. Not a thing and not a service, an opportunity for you to have an experience. The History of Literature Podcast is going on the road and you can join us. Our first stop is literary England, the land of Dr. Johnson and Jane Austen and Tolkien and C.S. lewis. Oh, and Dickens. Oh, and Shakespeare. Perhaps you've heard of him. This isn't a trip where you march from site to site checking off boxes. Seen it, seen it, seen it, seen it. This is a week plus a little more traveling with me and Emma and a group of other fans of literature, all of us enjoying our conversations, our chance to learn and grow and be inspired by these writers and their works that we love so much. With special visits along the way from past guests of the show, your favorites who will deepen our appreciation for what we're seeing. So please consider it. We would love to have you. You can learn more by going to John Shores Travel, that's S H O R S. And look for the upcoming trip to England with Jack Wilson. Or reach out to us@historyofliterature.com and we will tell you all the details. It's going to be in May of 2026, but act now to secure your spot. Space is limited, and let's all spend some quality time together enjoying literature and enjoying life.
- [01:39]
Mike Palindrome
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- [02:26]
Jack Wilson
Hello. Today on the podcast, we bring you number 24 on our list of the 25 greatest books of all time, is this the OG Hero's Journey? And then Mike Palindrome returns for our rousing conclusion of the F. Scott Fitzgerald short story the Diamond As Big as the Ritz. That's coming up today on the History of Literature. Okay, here we go. Welcome to the podcast. I'm Jack Wilson. I'm so glad you're here today. What a great episode. I can't wait to get started. The world is horrendous. It is awful. There's so much suffering. The news is bad and getting worse, but we're still going. And maybe we can provide a little break from it here at the podcast, because people need that too. So let's get into it. Number 24 on our list of the top 25 greatest books of all time. Number 24 is the Odyssey by Homer, or the collection collection of storytellers and poets who go by that name. The Odyssey is one of two famous works attributed to Homer, the other, of course, being the Iliad. And it might be worth a quick comparison of the two so we can see what exactly makes the Odyssey so special. By the way, this ranking is way too low. If I were making the list, the Odyssey and the Iliad would have to be in the top 10. My goodness, number 24 for the Odyssey. And spoiler alert, the Iliad is not even in the top 25. It's all the way down at number 37. Don't get me wrong, the books that are higher on the list are some great, great books. So stay tuned. You're going to want to hear about those books. They're great too. But the Iliad and especially the Odyssey are foundational texts for Western literature, Western civilization. They are what storytelling and literature are all about. So here's the comparison. These are both epic poems, hundreds of pages long, both written in ancient Greek, and they're both very old. Two of the oldest works of literature that have survived the Iliad really kicks off what we know of as Western or European literature. The poem is set in the final few weeks of the Trojan war. There's a 10 year siege of the city of Troy, and that poem tells the story of the wrath of Achilles, that great warrior with that famous fatal flaw, his heel, but also his pride and anger. The poem is full of battles and interactions between humans and gods and leaders and soldiers, warriors. And it's suffused with what we might call the code of the hero. War, violence, fury, physical courage, treating the wounded and the dead with respect and revenge against enemies. The Odyssey takes place after the war is over. Same war. Now it's over. Now it's time for the soldiers to return home. And Odysseus, the heroic king of Ithaca, who was called into battle as part of the effort of the Trojan War, he not only was part of the ten year siege, he's been on a ten year journey to get home. Meanwhile, at his home in Ithaca, his kingdom is in chaos and he has a family hanging on by their fingernails. He's been gone for 20 years. His son Telemachus barely knows him. His wife Penelope has been mobbed by suitors men who want to take Odysseus place by her side in her marital bed. What can she do? It's been 20 years and who knows what has happened to Odysseus? He's presumed to be dead, but she fends off the suitors through trickery. But they are encroaching. Marriage might be inevitable. Meanwhile, we know that Odysseus is not dead. He is in fact trying to get home. He's under the protection of Athena, the goddess, who's been doing some lobbying of Zeus to help Odysseus overcome the rage of Poseidon, the sea God, who's been furious with Odysseus and wants to stop him from making it home. And so it begins. Odysseus, who's been held captive by the nymph Calypso, who's in love with him, is freed to make the journey. But the journey is not an easy one. It's full of adventures with monsters and storms and temptations and various other challenges and obstacles. And we know at the end of it is home, if he can get there. But what does home mean when you've been gone for 20 years? Are you the same person returning home? And is home the same thing? We just did an amazing episode on the Odyssey. We were very privileged to have our guest, Daniel Mendelsohn, one of the world's leading experts in the Odyssey and translator and editor of a very new edition. It's on the shelves of bookstores now. It's highly recommended. Very enjoyable to read this translation. It feels right, you know, it just feels like he got the tone and the seriousness, but also the readability, the muscularity of the verse. It is a great translation. Please do check out that episode in our archives. What are we at here? 7:20? Well, that one's only back at 7:13. You don't have to scroll. Your thumb won't get tired flipping down to find that one. Right. One of the things we discuss in that episode is the passage that Daniel's students always find the most moving. He said it stands out, something that they notice. It's one of the great passages in the Odyssey, and it's almost an aside to the story, but it's also so important. One thing that we didn't get to do much of in that episode with Daniel. We were so busy talking, we didn't get to just hear the poetry in his brilliant new translation. I say brilliant because it is brilliant in the sense of wonderful and intelligent, a lot of brains behind it, but also in the sense of sparkling or Shining like hammered out bronze, sitting in the Aegean sun. I thought I would read you the passage that he and I discussed where Odysseus has finally arrived back in Ithaca. He's in disguise. Odysseus is clever. The Trojan Horse was his idea. He's been showing us all along how he can use his wits as well as his physical strength and courage. So he's in disguise. Because these suitors are no joke. There are a lot of them. Odysseus doesn't quite know where he stands back here at home. And home is in quotes. What will Penelope and Telemachus think? He makes his way to the hut of one of his former slaves, Umaeus. I guess it is. And what happens there? He sees his dog. Argos hasn't seen the dog for 10. For 10 years. 20 years. And yet the sight of him, sight of his dog now old, moves Odysseus to tears. But he can't reveal too much because he's still in disguise. But guess what? The dog Argus recognizes Odysseus too. Argus recognizes him. Umayyas doesn't. Umayus. I gotta get these pronunciations right. There's a whole pronunciation guide. I've written it all out and I still can't say it right. At least I don't say Telemachus. That's how I read it for years. Gotta do better. Come on, Jack.
- [11:03]
Emma
Okay.
- [11:04]
Jack Wilson
Umayus doesn't recognize Odysseus, which is not a surprise. He's been gone for 20 years. He looks different, of course, and he's in disguise. And the humans aren't expecting him. But nevertheless, the dog sees through the disguise. He senses him. And suddenly, not Only are the 20 years collapsed, the thousands of years between Homer telling the story and us, the readers in 20, 25, those years collapse too. We might not have Cyclops nearby, or we might not be worshiping the Greek gods anymore, or know what it's like to fight a 10 year battle and then struggle for 10 years to return home with no way of contacting our loved ones and no way of knowing what's going on with them. Maybe we're not kings, and maybe we're not famous warriors. Maybe we aren't living epic lives like Odysseus has been. But we might have a dog. Dogs are still here, still important, still our best friends. And the idea that this dog, Argus, has been waiting for his master all this time, lost and lonely, with no one around to treat him well, no one to let Argus be the best dog that he can be. He's given his life waiting and then that he immediately recognizes the ineffable quality of Odysseus, the essence of a person, even though Odysseus isn't trying to reveal himself to Argus or any or anyone else. It's a beautiful passage, and Homer the poet is a beautiful writer for giving it to us. It's not a major plot point, it's not a description of a major character, it's not setting, it's not giving us the history or the. Or why are these people fighting? It's a detail, just a detail. But it's such a nice and insightful and powerful and moving moment. It adds so much to the story. It doesn't feel like a poet who's just learning what poetry is about and can do. It doesn't have the creakiness of an early technology being adopted, like the way we look at quaintly at early films of trains coming down the tracks straight toward the camera and things like that. In a herky jerky way, it feels. This feels rich and mature, like a poet who is in full command of characterization and drama and detail. A poet in full command of his craft. So here we go. We're going to read Daniel Mendelsohn's translation of the Argus scene from book 17 of the Odyssey, saying such things as these. The two of them went on talking. Now a dog that was lying close by raised his head and pricked up his ears. Argus, who belonged to Odysseus of the steadfast mind, he himself had raised him, with no chance to enjoy him for long before that he'd gone off to awesome Ilion. In days gone by, the young men would bring him as they hunted down wild goats and roe deer and hares. But now he lay there, missed by no one since his master had gone away deep in the dung that was piled high in front of the palace doors, the dung of mules and cattle which Odysseus slaves would bring out to the huge estate to spread around on the fields. So there lay Argus, flash, riddled with vermin, destroyers of dogs. Now, though, as soon as he sensed that Odysseus was close by, look. He wagged his tail and both his ears relaxed. But after that he could not come any closer to his master, who looked in the other direction and brushed away a tear which he easily hid from Eumaeus. Eumaeus, whom he questioned straight away. Umayus, how very odd that this dog lies in the dung. His body shows beautiful breeding, although it's hard for me to know if he's got racing speed to match that lovely appearance of his. Or is merely like those dogs that men keep at their tables and their masters like to groom in order to make themselves grand. You replied to him then in turn, Eumaeus, my swineherd. Sure enough, this is the dog whose master died far away. If he were only the way he once was, his looks, the feats he'd perform, Just as Odysseus left him when he went off to Troy, you yourself would marvel to behold his speed and strength. No beast that he ever chased in the deepest part of the woods could ever get away. He was also a great one for tracking. But now he's beset by trouble. Somewhere far off his master has perished, and the women are heedless and take no care of him. When the masters of the house don't rule the roost, the slaves no longer have any desire to do an honest day's work. Zeus, whose thunder sounds far off, takes half a man's worth away as soon as the day of enslavement gets him in its grip. So saying, he went inside the bustling palace, going straight through the hall to join the lordly suitors. And Argus, his fate, Black death, took him in its grip the moment he saw Odysseus after 20 years had passed. End quote. That's wonderful stuff. Argus the hero, wonderful dog. Lamenting his master's absence, seeing his master and dying. Rest in peace, Argus. You were a very good boy. We move on now to the conclusion of our story, the diamond as Big as the Ritz with Mike Palindrome. If you didn't listen to that episode, which was 7:19, you might want to check it out so you can hear the first half of the story. Or if you'd rather stay here, that's fine too. I'm going to recap where we are in the story for all listeners. You can probably pick it up from there. The story the diamond as Big as the Ritz was published three years before Fitzgerald's famous novel the Great Gatsby. And like a few other short stories from this period, it anticipates the themes in that novel. This was what Fitzgerald had going on in his mind as he himself had recently lived out a kind of trajectory that the protagonists are living out. Did I say leave out? He had lived out this story of striving and approximation to wealth, getting close to wealth and seeing what it's all about. That's what he had been doing in his life, and that's what he has his characters do. In these stories from this time. The theme here is great wealth and what it does to the wealthy. In this story, we begin with John T. Unger, a sturdy Midwestern youth. From the town of Hades along the Mississippi River. Unger has gone to a fancy New England prep school where he met his classmate, Percy Washington. Percy invites Unger to his estate in Montana for the summer. And it's gradually revealed to John that Percy's family is wealthy. According to Percy, his father is the richest man in the world by far, and he owns a diamond that's bigger than the Ritz Carlton Hotel. John T. Unger soon finds much to support Percy's claims. As it turns out, Percy's grandfather discovered this diamond, which is basically a mountain out here in Montana. And he and his son Braddock, Percy's father, have over the years, taken enormous steps to keep it secret. They've managed to keep the mountain hidden from the United States, the government. I mean, it's not on the maps. But their biggest danger comes from aviators who fly overhead and are a threat to expose the truth to the world. So the Washington's shoot the aviators out of the sky and keep them as prisoners in a pit on a golf course. Although we hear that one of them, an Italian aviator that they allowed to come out of the pit to teach the family Italian, has escaped. John, meanwhile, is absorbed in the luxury of his surroundings. And he's fallen in love with Percy's younger sister, Kismet. Kisman. I think that pretty much brings you up to speed. And I. I do a little more summarizing. When Mike rejoins us, which we will do shortly. I talk about the questions that we want answered at this point in the story. So I won't do that here, but that will help remind you what's at stake for John T. Unger and the Washington family. One more thing before we begin. I will be listening to the commentary, and if needed, I'll chime in. Not sure if that'll be necessary today, but just in case, do we have the Voice ready to go? Are you there? Voice? Ready to go? Okay, there we go. Well, maybe that won't be necessary, but if Mike and I go off the rails, the Voice will be there to offer a few collective words. Corrective. Okay, got it. Thank you. My pleasure. I bet it is. Okay, here we go. We take a quick break. Break. Then we'll have Mike and the conclusion, starting with chapter seven of the Diamond As Big as the Ritz. This is an ad by BetterHelp. Hey, it's Summer. But that can come with a lot of stress, especially for those of us who work. Workplace stress is one of the top causes of declining mental health, and holidays and vacations can help, but those aren't long term solutions. 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- [22:31]
Mike Palindrome
On WhatsApp, no one can see or hear your personal messages. Whether it's a voice call message or sending a password to WhatsApp, it's all just this. So whether you're sharing the streaming password in the family chat or trading those late night voice messages that could basically become a podcast, your personal messages stay between you, your friends and your family. No one else, not even us. WhatsApp message privately with everyone with the.
- [23:00]
Jack Wilson
Venmo Debit card, you can Venmo everything.
- [23:02]
Mike Palindrome
Your favorite band's merch.
- [23:03]
Jack Wilson
You can Venmo this or their next show, you can Venmo that.
- [23:06]
Mike Palindrome
Visit Venmo Me Debit to learn more.
- [23:08]
Jack Wilson
The Venmo MasterCard is issued by the.
- [23:09]
Mike Palindrome
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- [23:13]
Jack Wilson
MasterCard is accepted. Venmo purchase restrictions apply. Foreign okay, Joining me once again is our old friend Mike Palindrome, who's here to discuss the second half of the early ish F. Scott Fitzgerald story the diamond as Big as the Ritz. Mike welcome back to the History of Literature. Hey Jeff, so we're in Part two now. We're going to hear chapter seven pretty soon. Anything we want to prep the listeners for?
- [23:58]
Emma
I guess if people can jog their memories about what they guessed, what might happen. Because we're obviously not building toward one of those short story endings where someone is staring out the window and watching snowfall.
- [24:16]
Jack Wilson
Yeah, right. Cursing the end of his childhood. You know, the glory days of his childhood when he was carefree and didn't know what it was like to have lost in love.
- [24:29]
Emma
Yeah, that New Yorker, I think people said that was like the New Yorker short story ending in, like the 70s and 80s.
- [24:35]
Jack Wilson
Yeah, right. Yeah. This one, no, we've got lots of. It's more like a pot boiler. We've got the richest man in the world. We've got this diamond that's bigger than a giant hotel. A whole mountain is made out of diamond. We've got Italian. An Italian aviator who's escaped this pit. And we've got a pit full of prisoners on a golf course that they play over like a water hazard. There's 250 slaves who are out there living there. And then we've got these Washingtons. Braddock Washington, who's like the Willy Wonka of the west, who is living. He sent his kids to fancy prep schools in the East. And he's trying to spend his money. But it's hard for him to spend it because if he spends too much of it, he'll lose it because it's diamonds. And he could flood the market and reduce the value of his source of value. So he's bought all this radium and he's put it in safe deposit boxes around the country to stash it away if he can. But really, what we're wondering is going to happen. Is John T Unger going to escape this place? Is he going to take it over? Are the men in the pit going to get out and attack Braddock Washington? And John T Unger's in love with Braddock Washington's daughter and all this stuff. So if people haven't listened to part one in the previous episode and listened to the first half of the story, they might want to make sure they do that now. Or they could read it and then pick up. We are going to hear chapter three seven next. The diamond as Big as the Ritz by F. Scott Fitzgerald. 7. July under the Lee of the diamond mountain was a month of blanket nights and of warm, glowing days. John and Kisman were in love. He did not know that the little gold football inscribed with the legend Prodeo et Patria at Saint Mida which he had given her. Rested on a platinum chain next to her bosom. But it did. And she, for her part, was not aware that a large sapphire which had dropped one day from her simple coiffure. Was stowed away tenderly in John's jewel box. Late one afternoon, when the Ruby and Ermine music room was quiet. They spent an hour there together. He held her hand and she gave him such a look that he whispered her name aloud. She bent toward him, then hesitated. Did you say Kismine? She asked softly. Or she had wanted to be sure. She thought she might have misunderstood. Neither of them had ever kissed before. But in the course of an hour, it seemed to make little difference. The afternoon drifted away. That night, when a last breath of music drifted down from the highest tower, the they each lay awake, happily dreaming over the separate minutes of the day. They had decided to be married as soon as possible. Okay, we're back. So, Mike, chapter seven is more of our love story. Anything here? Are we raising the stakes with these two?
- [27:51]
Emma
I think we just feel like they're going to. Whatever happens to John is going to happen to Kisme. Mm. Yeah, they're sort of. They're. They're sort of the team that we're. We're cheering for.
- [28:03]
Jack Wilson
Yeah, we do hear that. They. Let's see. So he's decided to be married as soon as possible. So. Yeah, they have. They are. They're linked together. At least for now. Unless something breaks them apart. So maybe we could just go on to chapter eight. That chapter seven is the shortest section here in the story.
- [28:21]
Emma
Yeah.
- [28:24]
Jack Wilson
Eight. Every day Mr. Washington and the two young men went hunting or fishing in the deep forests or played golf around the somnolent course, games which John diplomatically allowed his host to win, or swam in the mountain coolness of the lake. John found Mr. Washington, a somewhat exacting personality, utterly uninterested in any ideas or opinions except his own. Mrs. Washington was aloof and reserved at all times. She was apparently indifferent to her two daughters and entirely absorbed in her son Percy, with whom she held interminable conversations in rapid Spanish at dinner. Jasmine, the elder daughter, resembled Kismine in appearance, except that she was somewhat bow legged and terminated in large hands and feet, but was utterly unlike her in temperament. Her favorite books had to do with poor girls who kept house for widowed fathers. John learned from Kisman that Jasmine had never recovered from the shock and disappointment caused her by the termination of the world war, just as she was about to start for Europe as a canteen expert. She had even pined away for a time when Braddock Washington had taken steps to promote a new war in the Balkans. But she had seen a photograph of some wounded Serbian soldiers and lost interest in the whole proceedings. But Percy and Kismine seemed to have inherited the arrogant attitude in all its harsh magnificence from their father. A chaste and consistent selfishness ran like a pattern through their every idea. John was enchanted by the wonders of the chateau and the valley. Braddock Washington, so Percy told him, had caused to be kidnapped a landscape gardener, an architect, a designer of state settings, and a French decadent poet left over from the last century. He had put his entire force of Negroes at their disposal, guaranteed to supply them with any materials that the world could offer, and left them to work out some ideas of their own. But one by one they had shown their uselessness. The decadent poet had at once begun bewailing his separation from the boulevards. In spring he made some vague remarks about spices and apes and ivories, but said nothing that was of any practical value. The stage designer on his part wanted to make the whole valley a series of tricks and sensational effects, a state of things that the Washingtons would soon have grown tired of. And as for the architect and the landscape gardener, they thought only in terms of convention. They must make this like this, and that like that. But they had at least solved the problem of what was to be done with them. They all went mad early one morning after spending the night in a single room trying to agree upon the location of a fountain, and were now confined comfortably in an insane asylum at Westport, Connecticut. But, inquired John curiously, who did plan all your wonderful reception rooms and halls and approaches and bathrooms? Well, answered Percy, I blush to tell you, but it was a moving picture, fella. He was the only man we found who was used to playing with an unlimited amount of money, though he did tuck his napkin in his collar and couldn't read or write. As August drew to a close, John began to regret that he must soon go back to school. He and Kismin had decided to elope the following June. It would be nicer to be married here, Kismine confessed. But of course, I could never get Father's permission to marry you at all. Next to that, I'd rather elope. It's terrible for wealthy people to be married in America at present. They always have to send out bulletins to the press saying that they're going to be married in remnants, when what they mean is just a peck of old second hand pearls and some used lace worn once by the Empress Eugenie. I know, agreed John fervently. When I was visiting the Schnitzer Murphys, the eldest daughter, Gwendolyn, married a man whose father owns half of West Virginia. She wrote home saying what a tough struggle she was carrying on on his salary as a bank clerk. And then she ended up by saying that, thank God I have four good maids anyhow, and that helps a little. It's absurd, commented Kismin. Think of the millions and millions of people in the world laborers and all who get along with only two maids. One afternoon late in August, a chance remark of Kisman's changed the face of the entire situation and threw John into a state of terror. They were in their favorite grove, and between kisses John was indulging in some romantic forebodings, which he fancied added poignancy to their relations. Sometimes I think we'll never marry, he said sadly. You're too wealthy. Too magnificent. No one as rich as you are can be like other girls. I should marry the daughter of some well to do wholesale hardware man from Omaha or Sioux City and be content with her half million. I knew the daughter of a wholesale hardware man once, remarked Kismine. I don't think you'd have been contented with her. She was a friend of my sister's. She visited here. Oh, then you've had other guests? Exclaimed Jon in surprise. Kismine seemed to regret her words. Oh, yes, she said hurriedly. We've had a few. But aren't you. Wasn't your father afraid they'd talk outside? Oh, to some extent. To some extent, she answered. Let's talk about something pleasanter. But Jon's curiosity was aroused. Something pleasanter? He demanded. What's unpleasant about that? Weren't they nice girls? To his great surprise, Kismine began to weep. Yes, that's the whole trouble. I grew quite attached to some of them. So did Jasmine, but she kept inviting them anyway. I couldn't understand it. A dark suspicion was born in Jon's heart. Do you mean that they told and your father had them removed? Worse than that, she muttered brokenly. Father took no chances, and Jasmine kept writing them to come, and they had such a good time. She was overcome by a paroxysm of grief, stunned with the horror of this revelation. John sat there open mouthed, feeling the nerves of his body twitter like so many sparrows perched upon his spinal column. Now I've told you and I shouldn't have, she said, calming suddenly and drying her dark blue eyes. Do you mean to say that your father had them murdered before they left? She nodded. In August, usually, or early in September. It's only natural for us to get all the pleasure out of them that we can. First, how abominable. How I must be going crazy. Did you really admit that? I did, interrupted Kismine, shrugging her shoulders. We can't very well imprison them like those aviators when they'd be a continual reproach to us every day. And it's always been made easier for Jasmine and me, because Father had it done sooner than we expected. In that way we avoided any farewell scene. So you murdered them. Ah. Cried John. It was done very nicely. They were drugged while they were asleep, and their families were always told that they died of scarlet fever in Bute. But I fail to understand why you kept on inviting them. I didn't burst out Kismine. I never invited one. Jasmine did, and they always had a very good time. She'd give them the nicest presents toward the last. I shall probably have visitors, too. I'll harden up to it. We can't let such an inevitable thing as death stand in the way of enjoying life while we have it. Think how lonesome it'd be out here if we never had anyone. Why, Father and Mother have sacrificed some of their best friends just as we have. And so, Cried John accusingly. And so you are letting me make love to you and pretending to return it and talking about marriage all the time, knowing perfectly well that I'd never get out of here alive. No. She protested passionately. Not anymore. I did at first you were here. I couldn't help that, and I thought your last days might as well be pleasant for both of us. But then I fell in love with you and. And I'm honestly sorry you're going to. Going to be put away, though I'd rather you be. You'd be put away than ever kiss another girl. Oh, you would, would you? Cried Jon ferociously. Much rather. Besides, I've always heard that a girl can have more fun with a man whom she knows she can never marry. Oh, why did I tell you? I've probably spoiled your whole good time now. And we were really enjoying things when you didn't know it. I knew it would make things sort of depressing for you. Oh, you did, did you? Jon's voice trembled with anger. I've heard about enough of this. If you haven't any more pride and decency than to have an affair with a fellow that you know isn't much better than a corpse. I don't want to have any more to do with you. You're not a corpse, she protested in horror. You're not a corpse. I won't have you saying that I kissed a corpse. I said nothing of the sort. You did. You said I kissed a corpse. I didn't. Their voices had risen, but upon a sudden interruption they both subsided into immediate silence. Footsteps were coming along the path in their direction, and a moment later the rose bushes were parted and displaying Braddock Washington, whose intelligent eyes set in his good looking vacuous face were peering in at them. Who kissed a corpse? He demanded in obvious disapproval. Nobody answered Kismine quickly. We were just joking. What are you two doing here anyhow? He demanded gruffly. Kismine, you ought to be reading or playing golf with your sister. Go read. Go play golf. Don't let me find you here when I come back. Then he bowed at Jon and went up the path. See? Said Kismine crossly when he was out of hearing. You've spoiled it all. We can never meet anymore. He won't let me meet you. He'd have you poisoned if he thought we were in love. We're not any more, cried Jon fiercely. So he can set his mind at rest upon that. Moreover, don't fool yourself that I'm going to stay around here. Inside of six hours I'll be over those mountains if I have to gnaw a passage through them and on my way east. They had both got to their feet, and at this remark Kismine came close and put her arm through his. I'm going too. You must be crazy. Of course I'm going, she interrupted impatiently. You most certainly are, not you. Very well, she said quietly. We'll catch up with Father now and talk it over with him. Defeated, Jon mustered a sickly smile. Very well, dearest, he agreed with pale and unconvincing affection. We'll go together. His love for her returned and settled placidly on his heart. She was his. She would go with him to share his dangers. He put his arms about her and kissed her fervently. After all, she loved him. She had saved him, in fact. Discussing the matter, they walked slowly back toward the chateau. They decided that since Braddock Washington had seen them together, they had best depart the next night. Nevertheless, John's lips were unusually dry at dinner, and he nervously emptied a great spoonful of peacock soup into his left lung. He had to be carried into the turquoise and sable card room and pounded on the back by one of the underbutlers, which Percy considered a great joke. Okay, we're back. So that was chapter eight, and we hear that Percy and Kismine are like Braddock Washington. They seem to have inherited the arrogant attitude in all its harsh magnificence from their father. A chaste and consistent selfishness ran like a pattern through their every idea. This is the woman that John Unger wants to marry. It sounds like he's marrying a war criminal.
- [40:32]
Emma
I wrote Elon Musk.
- [40:38]
Jack Wilson
And we also hear again we talked about this in Our discussion in the last episode about how there's kind of like a parody aspect to this, and I always found it a little bit where I thought, I'm not quite as obsessed with wealth as Fitzgerald is. You kind of wanted him to double down on it. But here he puts an architect and a landscape gardener and a French decadent poet to work to make his place good and gives them the harnesses, the power of his slaves and lets them carry out his orders, all their orders. And yet they all disappoint him. And he's kind of mocking the. The outcome. I think we're supposed to kind of chuckle at it, but I was kind of thinking more about the decision with. You know, I mean, it's kind of comical that you choose a French decadent poet, but the idea that you. You so clearly think that. That it's just obvious that if you're this rich, you would own slaves. It's what I found a little bit. I kind of wish Fitzgerald would have talked about that a little bit more.
- [41:42]
Emma
Yeah, I think everything in this section is over the top. Like Kisman's saying, think of the millions of people who get along with only two maids.
- [41:53]
Jack Wilson
Yeah, I thought that was Fitzgerald trying to make us kind of love her for how, you know, how spoiled and obnoxious she is. But this is the kind of thing where I then think, I hate you. I hate kismet. I don't think that's what Fitzgerald wants me to think. I think he wants me to think, oh, this is. This is one of those perfect little peaches that. That you have to take care of and. And shelter because they. They have this worldview that you need to protect. And a good husband will keep her this way without ever spoiling. And I just think, ugh, come on.
- [42:30]
Emma
I mean, I guess that raises a good point. Like, how much do you have to feel like John is worth saving? Because, I mean, when John, in contrast to Percy and Braddock, seems like a decent human being, but on his own terms, is he worth really saving or caring about?
- [42:52]
Jack Wilson
Yeah. Why is he different from these other people who are around that the Washingtons are just chewing up and spitting out? It's really the dilemma for John at this point. He's going to be murdered. So what do you. I mean, what do you want him to do at this point? And what do you want from the story? Do you want him to take on all of the Washingtons, or are you still hoping that he's going to somehow end up as the richest man in the world with Kisman as his the bride on his arm.
- [43:25]
Emma
I kind of love this idea that he's gonna be murdered after they've gotten what they wanted out of him for summer's enjoyment. There's a part of me that just loves that kind of institutionalized murder, and just the logic of his murder. I find that almost delicious.
- [43:47]
Jack Wilson
Yeah, that would be a departure from a usual Fitzgerald story. So why don't we listen to chapter I guess we're up to chapter nine and see if Fitzgerald dares to go there. Nine Long after midnight Jon's body gave a nervous jerk and he sat suddenly upright, staring into the veils of somnolence that draped the room. Through the squares of blue darkness that were his open windows he had heard a faint, faraway sound that died upon a bed of wind before identifying itself on his memory clouded with uneasy dreams. But the sharp noise that had succeeded it was nearer was just outside the room the click of a turned knob, a footstep, a whisper, he could not tell. A hard lump gathered in the pit of his stomach, and his whole body ached in the moment that he strained agonizingly to hear. Then one of the veils seemed to dissolve and he saw a vague figure standing by the door, a figure only faintly limned and blocked in upon the darkness, mingled so with the folds of the drapery as to seem distorted, like a reflection seen in a dirty pane of glass. With a sudden movement of fright or resolution, John pressed the button by his bedside, and the next moment he was sitting in the green sunken bath of the adjoining room, waked into alertness by the shock of the cold water which half filled it. He sprang out and his wet pajamas, scattering a heavy trickle of water behind him, ran for the aquamarine door which he knew led out onto the ivory landing of the second floor. The door opened noiselessly. A single crimson lamp burning in a great dome above, lit the magnificent sweep of the carved stairways with a poignant beauty. For a moment John hesitated, appalled by the silent splendor massed about him, seeming to envelop in its gigantic folds and contours the solitary, drenched little figure shivering upon the ivory landing. Then, simultaneously, two things happened. The door of his own sitting room swung open, precipitating three naked Negroes into the hall, and as John swayed in wild terror toward the stairway, another door slid back in the wall on the other side of the corridor, and John saw Braddock Washington standing in the lighted lift wearing a fur coat and a pair of riding boots which reached to his knees and displayed above the glow of his rose colored pajamas. On the instant, the three Negroes. John had never seen any of them before, and it flashed through his mind that they must be the professional executioners, paused in their movement toward John and turned expectantly to the man in the lift, who burst out with an imperious command, get in here, all three of you. Quick as hell. Then, within the instant, the three Negroes darted into the cage. The oblong of light was blotted out as the lift door slid shut and Jon was again alone in the hall. He slumped weakly down against an ivory chair. It was apparent that something portentous had occurred, something which, for the moment at least, had postponed his own petty disaster. What was it? Had the Negroes risen in revolt? Had the aviators forced aside the iron bars of the grating? Or had the men of Fish stumbled blindly through the hills and gazed with bleak, joyless eyes upon the gaudy valley? Jon did not know. He heard a faint whir of air as the lift whizzed up again, and then a moment later as it descended. It was probable that Percy was hurrying to his father's assistance, and it occurred to Jon that this was his opportunity to join Kismine and plan an immediate escape. He waited until the lift had been silent for several minutes. Shivering a little with the night cool that whipped in through his wet pajamas, he returned to his room and dressed himself quickly. Then he mounted a long flight of stairs and turned down the corridor carpeted with Russian sable, which led to Kismine's suite. The door of her sitting room was open and the lamps were lighted. Kismine, in an angora kimono, stood near the window of the room in a listening attitude, and as John entered noiselessly, she turned toward him. Oh, it's you, she whispered, coming, crossing the room to him. Did you hear them? I heard your father's slaves in my no, she interrupted excitedly. Aeroplanes. Aeroplanes. Perhaps that was the sound that woke me. There are at least a dozen. I saw one a few moments ago, dead against the moon. The guard back by the cliff fired his rifle, and that's what roused Father. We're going to open on them right away. Are they here on purpose? Yes, it's that Italian who got away. Simultaneously with her last word, a succession of sharp cracks tumbled in through the open window. Kismine uttered a little cry, took a penny with fumbling fingers from a box on her dresser, and ran to one of the electric lights. In an instant the entire chateau was in darkness. She had blown out the fuse Come on, she cried to him. We'll go up to the roof garden and watch it from there. Drawing a cape about her, she took his hand and they found their way out the door. It was only a step to the tower lift and as she pressed the button that shot them upward, he put his arms around her in the darkness and kissed her mouth. Romance had come to John Unger at last. A minute later they had stepped out upon the star white platform. Above, under the misty moon, sliding in and out of the patches of cloud that eddied below it, floated a dozen dark winged bodies in a constant circling course. From here and there in the valley flashes of fire leaped toward them, followed by sharp detonations. Kismine clapped her hands with pleasure, which a moment later turned to dismay as the airplanes, at some prearranged signal began to release their bombs and the whole of the valley became a panorama of deep reverberate sound and lurid light. Before long the aim of the attackers became concentrated upon the points which where the anti aircraft guns were situated, and one of them was almost immediately reduced to a giant cinder to lie smoldering in a park of rose bushes. Kismine begged John, you'll be glad when I tell you that this attack came on the eve of my murder. If I hadn't heard that guard shoot off his gun back by the pass, I should now be stone dead. I can't hear you. Cried Kismine, intent on the scene before her. You'll have to talk louder. I simply said, shouted John, that we'd better get out before they begin to shell the chateau. Suddenly the whole portico of the negro quarters cracked asunder. A geyser of flame shot up from under the colonnades, and great fragments of jagged marble were hurled as far as the borders of the lake. There go $50,000 worth of slaves. Cried Kismine. At pre war prices. So few Americans have any respect for property. Jon renewed his efforts to compel her to leave. The aim of the aeroplanes was becoming more precise, minute by minute, and only two of the anti aircraft guns were still retaliating. It was obvious that the garrison encircled with fire could not hold out much longer. Come on. Cried Jon, pulling Kismine's arm. We've got to go. Do you realize that those aviators will kill you without question if they find you? She consented reluctantly. We'll have to wake Jasmine, she said as they hurried toward the lift. Then she added in a sort of childish delight, we'll be poor, won't we? Like people in books And I'll be an orphan and utterly free. Free and poor. What fun. She stopped and raised her lips to him in a delighted kiss. It's impossible to be both together, said John grimly. People have found that out. And I should choose to be free as preferable of the two. As an extra caution, you'd better dump the contents of your jewel box into your pockets. Ten minutes later, the two girls met John in the dark corridor and they descended to the main floor of the chateau, passing for the last time through the magnificence of the splendid halls. They stood for a moment out on the terrace, watching the burning Negro quarters and the flaming embers of two planes which had fallen on the other side of the lake. A solitary gun was still keeping up a sturdy popping, and the attackers seemed timorous about descending lower, but sent their thunderous fireworks in a circle around it until any chance shot might annihilate its Ethiopian crew. Jon and the two sisters passed down the marble steps, turned sharply to the left and began to ascend a narrow path that wound like a garter about the Diamond Mountain. Kismine knew a heavily wooded spot halfway up where they could lie concealed and yet be able to observe the wild night in the valley, finally to make an escape when it should be necessary along a secret path laid in a rocky gully. Okay, we're back. So that was chapter nine. And this is kind of turning now into an action movie with a disaster escape element to it. There's romance in the middle, he says. At last he knew romance. But this is kind of. We're kind of still wondering, I think what we had talked about at the end of chapter eight, after we listened to chapter eight, is what do we want from John T. Unger? What do we think he's going to do? You were kind of hoping he'd be murdered and maybe that'll still happen. But how's this chapter working for you?
- [53:13]
Emma
I wrote action in all caps in the margins. When he uses the bedslide to escape, you wonder how the hell he's going to make it out of there. I mean, and how he finds time to even care about Kisman, who he's known for. I mean, three weeks. I mean, it's. Yeah, this. And this section has one of the really cringeworthy lines. The $50,000 worth of slaves at pre war prices.
- [53:51]
Jack Wilson
Yeah, right.
- [53:52]
Emma
That really. That was a bad moment.
- [53:56]
Jack Wilson
Yeah. Kisman is. I'm not really rooting for Kisman at this point.
- [54:02]
Emma
Yeah.
- [54:03]
Jack Wilson
So you have. You've gone on the record. You want John T. Unger to be murdered. I'll say I want Kisman to be murdered.
- [54:11]
Emma
But it's so entertaining. I mean, it's. You know, you really. You have to admire that he did something with the setup. Often people get the setup right, and the setup is alluring and enticing, but then what happens afterward is a little flat here. It just keeps anteing up.
- [54:39]
Jack Wilson
Yeah. And that's what we talked about with this being kind of an impressive departure for Fitzgerald. This is. I mean, he does have action or he does have, you know, the Great Gatsby has plot elements and the car. And, you know, there's a lot of. It's not like. And Tender as the Night does, too. It's not like he only writes stories that take place in the drawing room or something. He gets out there and he moves people around. But this is different. This is where it almost feels like you, when you read other Fitzgerald, you think he's modeling himself after. He's sort of. I'll be a more accessible Henry James. I'll be a more popular Edith Wharton. And this is like. You get the feeling he's read some thriller stories or he's read some H.G. wells Science fiction or something. It feels like we're in a completely different kind of genre for him. Yeah.
- [55:42]
Emma
I mean, I. I love the. The start of these announcements and exclamations like, I'll be an orphan and utterly free. Free and poor. What fun. I'm enjoying that. This, like this. This screaming at each other. I can't hear you. You'll have to talk louder. I mean.
- [56:02]
Jack Wilson
Right. And it feels like he's building in a way. It feels like he knows what he's doing in the sense of. He makes you feel like this is like a movie, an action movie, where things are ratcheting up and the stakes are getting higher and the weather is getting stormier and it's getting noisier and crazier and you feel like something is going to burst. You know, the dam is going to burst. Something's got to happen to relieve the tension here.
- [56:36]
Emma
Yeah.
- [56:37]
Jack Wilson
Okay, so let's. Oh, yeah. Chapter 10. This is a good one. Let's hear that one. Next ten. It was three o' clock when they attained their destination. The obliging and phlegmatic Jasmine fell off to sleep immediately leaning against the trunk of a large tree while Jon and Kismine sat his arm around her and watched the desperate ebb and flow of the dying battle among the ruins of Avista that had been a garden spot that morning. Shortly after 4:00', clock, the last remaining gun gave out a clanging sound and went out of action in a swift tongue of red smoke. Though the moon was down, they saw that the flying bodies were circling closer to the earth. When the planes had made certain that the beleaguered possessed no further resources, they would land, and the dark and glittering reign of the Washingtons would be over. With the cessation of the firing, the valley grew quiet. The embers of the two aeroplanes glowed like the eyes of some monster crouching in the grass. The chateau stood dark and silent, beautiful without light as it had been beautiful in the sun, while the woody rattles of Nemesis filled the air above with a growing and receding complaint. Then Jon perceived that Kismine, like her sister, had fallen sound asleep. It was long after four when he became aware of footsteps along the path they had lately followed, and he waited in breathless silence until the persons to whom they belonged had passed the vantage point he occupied. There was a faint stir in the air now that was not of human origin, and the dew was cold. He knew that the dawn would break soon. Jon waited until the steps had gone a safe distance up the mountain and were inaudible. Then he followed. About halfway to the steep summit, the trees fell away and a hard saddle of rock spread itself over the diamond beneath. Just before he reached this point, he slowed down his pace, warned by an animal sense that there was life just ahead of him. Coming to a high boulder, he lifted his head gradually above its edge. His curiosity was rewarded. This is what he saw. Braddock Washington was standing there, motionless, silhouetted against the gray sky, without sound or sign of life. As the dawn came up out of the east, lending a cold green color to the earth, it brought the solitary figure into insignificant contrast with the new day. While John watched, his host remained for a few moments, absorbed in some inscrutable contemplation. Then he signaled to the two Negroes, who crouched at his feet to lift the burden which lay between them. As they struggled upright, the first yellow beam of the sun struck through the innumerable prisms of an immense and exquisitely chiseled diamond, and a white radiance was kindled that glowed upon the air like a fragment of the morning star. The bearers staggered beneath its weight for a moment. Then their rippling muscles caught and hardened under the white shine of the skins, and the three figures were again motionless in their defiant impotency before the heavens. After a while, the white man lifted his head and slowly raised his arms in a gesture of attention as one who would call a great crowd to hear. But there was no crowd, only the vast silence of the mountain and the sky broken by faint bird voices down among the trees. The figure on the saddle of rock began to speak ponderously and and with an inextinguishable pride. You out there. He cried in a trembling voice. You there. He paused, his arms still uplifted, his head held attentively as though he were expecting an answer. Jon strained his eyes to see whether there might be men coming down the mountain. But the mountain was bare of human life. There was only sky and a mocking flute of wind along the treetops. Could Washington be praying? For a moment John wondered. Then the illusion passed. There was something in the man's whole attitude, antithetical to prayer. Oh, you above there. The voice was become strong and confident. This was no forlorn supplication. If anything, there was in it a quality of monstrous condescension. You there. Words too quickly uttered to be understood, flowing one into the other. John listened breathlessly, catching a phrase here and there while the voice broke off, resumed, broke off again, now strong and argumentative, now colored with a slow, puzzled impatience. Then a conviction commenced to dawn on the single listener, and as realization crept over him, a spray of quick blood rushed through his arteries. Braddock Washington was offering a bribe to God. That was it, there was no doubt. The diamond in the arms of his slaves was some advance sample, a promise of more to follow. That, John perceived, after a time, was the thread running through his sentences. Prometheus, enriched, was calling to witness forgotten sacrifices, forgotten rituals, prayers obsolete before the birth of Christ. For a while his discourse took the form of reminding God of this gift and of that which divinity had deigned to accept from men great churches if he would rescue cities from the plague, gifts of myrrh and gold, of human lives and beautiful women and captive armies, of children and queens, of beasts, of the forest and field sheep and goats, harvests and cities, whole conquered lands that had been offered up in lust or blood for his appeaseal buying a meed's worth of alleviation from the divine wrath. And now he, Braddock Washington, emperor of diamonds, king and priest of the age of gold, arbiter of splendor and luxury, would offer up a treasure such as princes before him had never dreamed of. Offer it up not in suppliance but in pride. He would give to God, he continued, getting down to specifications, the greatest diamond in the world. This diamond would be cut with many more thousand facets than There were leaves on a tree, and yet the whole diamond would be shaped with the perfection of a stone no bigger than a fly. Many men would work upon it for many years. It would be set in a great dome of beaten gold, wonderfully carved and equipped with gates of opal and crusted sapphire. In the middle would be hollowed out a chapel presided over by an altar of iridescent, decomposing, ever changing radium which would burn out the eyes of any worshipper who lifted up his head from prayer. And on this altar there would be slain, for the amusement of the divine benefactor, any victim he should choose, even though it should be the greatest and most powerful man alive. In return he asked only a simple thing. A thing that for God would be absurdly easy. Only that matters should be as they were yesterday at this hour, and that they should so remain so very simple. Let but the heavens open, swallowing these men in their aeroplanes, and then close again. Let him have his slaves once more restored to life. And well. There was no one else with whom he had ever needed to treat or bargain. He doubted only whether he had made his bribe big enough. God had his price, of course. God was made in man's image, so it had been said. He must have his price, and the price would be rare. No cathedral whose building consumed many years, no pyramid constructed by 10,000 workmen would be like this cathedral. This pyramid. He paused here. That was his proposition. Everything would be up to specifications. And there was nothing vulgar in his assertion that it would be cheap at the price. He implied that Providence could take it or leave it. As he approached the end, his sentences became broken, became short and uncertain, and his body seemed tense, seemed strained to catch the slightest pressure or whisper of life in the spaces around him. His hair had turned gradually white as he talked, and now he lifted his head high to the heavens like a prophet of old, magnificently mad. Then, as Jon stared in giddy fascination, it seemed to him that a curious phenomenon took place somewhere around him. It was as though the sky had darkened for an instant, as though there had been a sudden murmur and a gust of wind, a sound of faraway trumpets, a sighing like the rustle of a great sea silken robe. For a time the whole of nature round about partook of this darkness. The birds song ceased, the trees were still, and far over the mountain there was a mutter of dull, menacing thunder. That was all. The wind died along the tall grasses of the valley. The dawn and the day resumed their place in a time, and the risen sun sent hot waves of Yellow mist that made its path bright before it. The leaves laughed in the sun, and their laughter shook the trees until each bough was like a girls school in fairyland. God had refused to accept the bribe. For another moment John watched the triumph of the day. Then, turning, he saw a flutter of brown down by the lake. Then another flutter, then another, like the dance of golden angels alighting from the clouds. The aeroplanes had come to earth. Jon slid off the boulder and ran down the side of the mountain to the clump of trees where the two girls were awake and waiting for him. Kismine sprang to her feet, the jewels in her pockets jingling a question on her parted lips, but instinct told Jon that there was no time for words. They must get off the mountain without losing a moment. He seized a hand of each and in silence they threaded. The tree trunks, washed with light now, and with the rising mist behind them. From the valley came no sound at all except the complaint of the peacocks far away and the pleasant undertone of morning. When they had gone about half a mile, they avoided the park land and entered a narrow path that led over the next rise of ground. At the highest point of this they paused and turned around. Their eyes rested upon the mountainside they had just left, oppressed by some dark sense of tragic impedency. Clear against the sky, a broken white haired man was slowly descending the steep slope, followed by two gigantic and emotionless Negroes who carried a burden between them, which still flashed and glittered in the sun. Halfway down, two other figures joined them. John could see that they were Mrs. Washington and her son, upon whose arm she leaned. The aviators had clambered from their machines to the sweeping lawn in front of the chateau and with rifles in hand, were starting up the diamond mountain in skirmishing formation. But the little group of five, which had formed farther up and was engrossing all the watchers attention, had stopped upon a ledge of rock. The Negroes stooped and pulled up what appeared to be a trapdoor in the side of the mountain. Into this they all disappeared, the white haired man first, then his wife and son, finally the two Negroes, the glittering tips of whose jeweled headdresses caught the sun for a moment before the trapdoor descended. It engulfed them all. Kismine clutched Jon's arm. Oh. She cried wildly. Where are they going? Where are they going? What are they going to do? It must be some underground way of escape. A little scream from the two girls interrupted his sentence. Don't you see? Sobbed Kismine hysterically. The mountain is wired. Even as she spoke, Jon put up his hands to shield his sight. Before their eyes, the whole surface of the mountain had changed suddenly to a dazzling burning yellow, which showed up through the jacket of turf as light shows through a human hand. For a moment, the intolerable glow continued. And then, like an extinguished filament, it disappeared, revealing a black waste from which blue smoke arose slowly carrying off with it what remained of vegetation and of human flesh. Of the Aviators, there was left neither blood nor bone. They were consumed as completely as the five souls who had gone inside. Simultaneously and with an immense concussion, the chateau literally threw itself into the air, bursting into flaming fragments as it rose and then tumbling back upon itself in a smoking pile that lay projecting half into the water of the lake. There was no fire. What smoke there was drifted off, mingling with the sunshine. And for a few minutes longer, a powdery dust of marble drifted from the great flowers featureless pile that had once been the House of Jewels. There was no more sound, and the three people were alone in the valley.
- [69:22]
Mike Palindrome
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- [69:49]
Jack Wilson
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- [70:00]
Emma
Elevation is raising the standard of what comes standard.
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Jack Wilson
As far as expectations go, why meet them when you can shatter them? What we choose to challenge, we challenge completely. We are professional grade.
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Emma
Visit gmc.com to learn more.
- [70:20]
Jack Wilson
Okay, we're back. So chapter 10, Mike. We are a long way from Hades, Missouri. Now, this was the best chapter for me. This, to me, is the best part of the whole story. What did you think?
- [70:35]
Emma
I mean, I told you this is the fourth time I read it. And I'll tell you, every time I read it, I forget this chapter. I forget because it's so unbelievable.
- [70:47]
Jack Wilson
Yeah.
- [70:48]
Emma
I mean, he's Braddock praying to God for his blessing to save him or to, you know.
- [70:54]
Jack Wilson
Yeah. This pickle offering a bribe to God that it's not the kind of thing we see in Fitzgerald.
- [71:03]
Emma
Yeah. And God turns him down. I. I actually wasn't sure if God, I felt Like God wasn't gonna accept it, but I wasn't sure.
- [71:12]
Jack Wilson
Well, what would God really want? I mean, he's. It's suggested that he's going to build him something on the order of a great cathedral or a pyramid. But then he kind of. He kind of gets disgusted with his own offering of the bribe, as if he's too good to do it. And it says, he implied that providence could take it or leave it. Like, those are my terms. I've given you my terms, you know, take it or leave it. And the other thing, the other detail is that as he's talking to God, his hair gradually turns white.
- [71:44]
Emma
Right.
- [71:46]
Jack Wilson
This is. I thought, you know, Fitzgerald. This. This might have been what it was like to. To be out telling stories with Fitzgerald when he was drunk.
- [72:01]
Emma
I mean, I guess he had more imagination than what appeared on, you know, his pages. Yeah. And this is proof of it.
- [72:11]
Jack Wilson
Yeah. And we get. I mean, the action scene, I think, is pretty well done. We get five people committing suicide in the mountain, which is wired. I said last time that we were headed towards some kind of bursting of a dam. We get this huge explosion. Explosion. It's quite a chapter. So why don't we hear the next one is the last chapter, chapter 11. And we will hear how Fitzgerald winds down this crazy story. 11. At sunset, John and his two companions reached the high cliff which had marked the boundaries of the Washington's dominion, and looking back, found the valley tranquil and lovely in the dusk. They sat down to finish the food which Jasmine had brought with her in a basket. There, she said as she spread the tablecloth and put the sandwiches in a neat pile upon it, don't they look tempting? I always think that food tastes better outdoors. With that remark, remarked Kismine, jasmine enters the middle class. Now, John said eagerly, turn out your pocket and let's see what jewels you brought along. If you made a good selection, we three ought to live comfortably all the rest of our lives. Lives. Obediently, Kismine put her hand in her pocket and tossed two handfuls of glittering stones before him. Not so bad. Cried Jon enthusiastically. They aren't very big, but hello. His expression changed as he held one of them up to the declining sun. Why, these aren't diamonds. There's something the matter. By golly. Exclaimed Kismine with a startled look. What an idiot I am. Why, these are rhinestones. Cried Jon. I know. She broke into a laugh. I opened the wrong drawer. They belonged on the dress of a girl who visited Jasmine. I got her to give them to me in exchange for diamonds. I'd never seen anything but precious stones before. And this is what you brought? I'm afraid so. She fingered the brilliants wistfully. I think I like these better. I'm a little tired of diamonds. Very well, said John gloomily. We'll have to live in Hades, and you will grow old telling incredulous women that you got the wrong drawer. Unfortunately, your father's bank books were consumed with him. Well, what's the matter with Hades? If I come home with a wife at my age, my father is just as liable as not to cut me off with a hot coal, as they say down there. Jasmine spoke up. I love washing, she said quietly. I have always washed my own handkerchiefs. I'll take in laundry and support you both. Do they have wash women in Hades? Asked Kismine innocently. Of course, answered John. It's just like anywhere else. I thought perhaps it was too hot to wear any clothes. John laughed. Just try it, he suggested. They'll run you out before you're half started. Will Father be there? She asked. John turned to her in astonishment. Your father is dead, he replied somberly. Why should he go to Hades? You have it confused with another place that was abolished long ago. After supper they folded up the tablecloth and spread their blankets for the night. What a dream it was. Kismine sighed, gazing up at the stars. How strange it seems to be here with one dress and a penniless under the stars, she repeated. I never noticed the stars before. I always thought of them as great big diamonds that belonged to someone. Now they frighten me. They make me feel that it was all a dream. All my youth. It was a dream, said John quietly. Everybody's youth is a dream, a form of chemical madness. How pleasant then, to be insane. So I'm told, said Jon gloomily. I don't know any longer. At any rate, let us love for a while. For a year or so, you and me. That's a form of divine drunkenness that we can all try. There are only diamonds in the whole world. Diamonds. And perhaps this shabby gift of disillusion. Well, I have that last, and I will make the usual nothing of it. He shivered. Turn up your coat collar, little girl. The night's full of chill and you'll get pneumonia. His was a great sin. Who first invented consciousness let us lose it for a few hours. So, wrapping himself in his blanket, he fell off to sleep. Okay. Chapter 11 Mike, the question I wrote down here for you is this chapter as bizarre as I think it Is.
- [77:06]
Emma
I kind of wanted more.
- [77:07]
Jack Wilson
Yeah.
- [77:07]
Emma
I wanted this chapter to keep going. I, I actually enjoy some of this, some of this back and forth. I, I always think food tastes better outdoors with that remark. Remark. Kisman, Jasmine enters the middle class.
- [77:22]
Jack Wilson
Yeah. I mean they're like three picnickers. They just have, they're talking about the father is dead and this mountain is exploding. Exploded. And they're talking about the new life in Hades and, and wondering what kind of clothes they're going to wear there and thinking about being poor. And the tone is such a shift. I felt like, I felt like Fitzgerald almost kind of said, as long as I make these separate parts and separate them, but you know, give, give each part a different number. I can write completely different in a completely different style and tone and I can keep shifting it around. I can have an action story in one chapter and then I can just go back to having kind of a peaceful romantic comedy kind of story in the next. Yeah.
- [78:11]
Emma
And they're, they're a little tired of diamonds. You wonder if Fitzgerald struggled as much writing this than his other books. Because yes, there's a lot of action and plot. It is a little short on psychology.
- [78:30]
Jack Wilson
Yeah. What it seems to really expose for Fitzgerald to. This feels very Fitzgerald is that not only that he wrote the story, but he was surprised at its reception. Like you that, that feels very Fitzgerald to me that he, he wrote it and thought like this is the best thing I've ever written. Like this is like, of course the Saturday Evening Post is going to run it. Like he, he, he didn't have the self awareness to say, well you know, I'm glad I wrote it, I personally love it, but boy, this is not going to go over like some of my other stories. It's long, it's, it's kind of wild and you know, but instead he's convinced that this is. In that introduction I mentioned last time of his book Tales from the Jazz Age, where the story was collected. He said one well known critic has been pleased to like this extravaganza better than anything I have written. Personally, I prefer the offshore pirate, but to tamper slightly with Lincoln, if you like this sort of thing, this possibly is the sort of thing you'll like. But we know that he actually was really disappointed that editors were turning it down. And you know, maybe later he came to realize why that was the case and maybe the sting had. Had been taken away from a little bit because his other stories then had more success. But it does seem like his confusion at first about why people didn't immediately take to this story is something that I find kind of endearing. And also, speaking of the offshore pirate, that's another one we could put on our list.
- [80:11]
Emma
Yeah. I do not remember that. I still love this story. I think it. It's. It's a weird one and it's age more than the last time I read it, but, boy, is it entertaining. And the first time you read it is. It's kind of stunning.
- [80:29]
Jack Wilson
Yeah, yeah, it's. It's like five different stories all mashed together and. But it feels like Fitzgerald is pushing his imagination to its limits. And it's kind of interesting to see it all happen and the whole thing kind of explode like the mountain. I felt like Fitzgerald was giving in to some of his obsessions, like the interest in wealth. And like he said, it was. He. It was like nourishment for him. He wanted to feed on it. What are you talking about? But it does feel a little bit like he's a junkie. What? Shooting his obsessions into his veins. And we're kind of watching it happen, but it also, as we've been saying, it's Fitzgerald kind of doing something he didn't always do. And you get to see a really creative person who's exploring the limits of his imagination.
- [81:31]
Emma
Yeah. And maybe the story will become even more relevant as income inequality makes something like this even possible. I mean, you know, the Mark Zuckerbergs of the world building fences around their island islands that they bought in Hawaii. And I mean, maybe that's their wedding.
- [81:55]
Jack Wilson
Yeah, I mean, they. They say we're going to have the humankind's first trillionaire soon, which. Which wouldn't be such a big deal if we were all billionaires, but because most of us are not even millionaires. It's like the trillionaires. I mean, that is. Boy, we will, I'm sure, end up with a Fitzgerald coming out of this era that we're entering into here, I guess.
- [82:23]
Emma
Ready or attack. Anti aircraft guns.
- [82:29]
Jack Wilson
Wait for that Italian aviator to come and blow the whistle and alert the. Alert the people, the helpers to come and bomb us out of here, out of the pit we're in on the golf course. Okay. Well, this has been fun talking with you about this, Mike. I'm glad we went through one of your favorite Fitzgerald stories. Is it maybe the favorite of yours or is that too hard to make a claim like that?
- [83:00]
Emma
Probably my favorite is Babylon Revisited.
- [83:02]
Jack Wilson
Yeah. Yeah. Which we've talked about before in. In one of our past episodes. People can go check that one out, but this was definitely a fun one to to dive into again. I don't think I've read it since I first read it back in the 1990s. So thank you for suggesting it.
- [83:22]
Emma
Yeah, it's fun to recommend it to people and then get their reaction.
- [83:27]
Jack Wilson
Okay, well, let's leave things there. Mike, as always, thank you for joining me on the history of literature.
- [83:33]
Emma
Thanks, Jack.
- [83:38]
Jack Wilson
Okay, there we go. The conclusion to the diamond as big as the Ritz. I hope you enjoyed it. My thanks to Mike for joining me. We're going to make it, people. We are doing our best to hang on. The world is awful, but we can make it. I know we can do it. And literature will help. We've got a look at the moral rights of authors coming up soon with our old friend of the show, Meera T. Sundara Rajan, who is one of the world's experts in copyright law. We'll ask her about some new developments. And we've got an episode on Christopher Isherwood coming up soon. And maybe an old favorite is going to sneak into our schedule. We'll have some Edgar Allan Poe, some Edith Wharton and Patrick o', Brien, Emily Bronte, John Milton and his revolutionary spirit, and a look at the miraculous year 1925 from the perspective of 2025, which might be miraculous too. Or maybe it will turn out to be a dud. We still have time. We still have some months left. Roll out the miracles. I'm Jack Wilson. Thank you for listening and we'll see you next time.
- [85:10]
Zibby Owens
Hi, this is Zibby Owens, host of Totally Booked with Zibbee, formerly Moms don't have Time to Read Books. In my daily show, I interview today's latest best selling, buzziest or underrated authors and story creators whose work I think is worth your time. As a bookstore owner, publisher, author, and obviously podcaster, I get a comprehensive look at everything that's coming out and spend my time curating the best books so you don't have to stay in the know. Get insider insights and connect with guests like Grammy award winning singer Alicia Keys, critically acclaimed author Judy Blume, and Academy Award winning screenwriter John Irving. Every single day with Totally Booked, you aren't just listening, you're part of the story. So don't miss out. Follow Totally Booked with Zibby on Apple podcasts, Spotify or wherever you're listening now.
- [86:00]
Mike Palindrome
I'm Courtney Act. Many of you may know me from RuPaul's Drag Race, celebrity Big Brother, Dancing with the Stars, or probably my hit album Kaleidoscope well, guess what? I have got a brand new show called RR with Courtney act and I want you to check it out. You know I hate small talk. I want to go deep and I want to go quickly and on my show we do just that. In today's world it feels really polarized and we're more connected than ever. But really we can feel isolated and I don't like that. I want the story shared here on R and R to make us realize that our similarities are greater than our differences. So join me and my fabulous guests like Nicole Byer, Tom Daly, Margaret Cho, Katia Adore Delano, Jackie Beat and many more. If you're looking for some rest and relaxation, you've come to the wrong place because we are peeling back the layers of superficiality and we're getting down to the real stuff. Follow R and R with Courtney act on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, YouTube or wherever you're listening now.