Aberration of starlight Book

Aberration of starlight... The true path of light from a star to an observer is along the straight line from the star to the observer; but, because of the component of the observer's velocity in a direction perpendicular to the direction to the star, the light appears to be traveling along a path at an angle to the true direction to the star. - The New Columbia Encyclopedia

Did I like Aberration of Starlight? Kind of. Sorrentino uses different instruments to record the expectations from light years away of the four people. I mean ants. Stars and plasma and held in orbit by the gravity of the expectations of others. I mean the dead sun. Set up some charts and a telescope and get disappointed when the broadcasted phenomenon is a blip. It's probably a red plane light like the "Santa Claus" I spotted when four years old. I didn't get to keep the illusion for long. I don't think some illusions burn hot enough to be worth eating off of anyway. Dancing shoes, pornographic post cards, "fathers". I never wanted to pluck these stars out of the skies and put them in my eyes. I wanted to be moved and instead I was wearing a lab coat and holding a pencil and putting things in baggies with tweezers.

I was going to do a question and answer type of thing like some parts of "Abberration". I've already forgotten about doing it. (Liar! You just said you were going to do it.) Those were the least affecting parts, for me. The letters, the diarrhea memories, the bleeding with sarcasm hopes and dreams. No one is ever happy. If I were them and '50s sitcoms had been invented yet (we're in the great depression) I would have cried. They would have offered no solace. I remember when I first acknowledged to myself that I craved escapism when confronted with swallowing shit instead of doing what I wanted to do. It was in elementary school and the teacher was scaring us kids with how "Everything is going to change" when we got to middle school (it was exactly the same). I thought about how I wished I could go home and watch The Fresh Prince of Bel Air and not think about not getting to do what I wanted to do (probably reading). I didn't even really like The Fresh Prince (except for Carlton when he did something humiliating). They had rich people problems that were solved in under thirty minutes. Who wants to compete with that? The distraction is no good. Every happy thought they ever utter is utterly useless.

I read the never lasts that long self deceptions as oozing between the lines sarcasm. The toes would have gunky yolks in between them from walking on shells. Sorrentino interrupts to ask questions and answers. It was a lot like reading a journalistic account of some people who could be just like some other people somewhere else. Maybe it's syndicated people. What are they doing here? What am I doing here? If there's a star I could never get close to it because of this. He freaking tells me that Marie's mother Bridget was jealous that her daughter and former son-in-law broke the bed. When he doesn't just tell it's great. I got all on my own that Bridget left Marie 5,000 in her will so that her husband could decide on his own not to even tell her about it (maybe I'm not right but I don't mind that as long as I get to wonder). Their problem is that problem. The telling without knowing what the real questions are. Does Tom just wanna fuck Marie, maybe pretend to love her a little bit if that's what it takes? Yes, of course. The of course is what bored me a little. I would need another television show to watch to distract me from the tv show of the adults who want to fuck each other, who are afraid that it's not the right thing to do, that maybe they aren't getting what they are supposed to get. It's like never having any peace and quiet in your own soul.

From a distance Tom is the aw shucks, gee whiz that sure is a purty dress you got on shyster (what do they call those kinds of guys?). It's not so copacetic when you move a little closer. Someone is putting on a show. His show would be to check his teeth in the car mirror. Someone has gotta be in on it. Marie's show is all of the things that she thought she should have. I kind of felt sorry for her that her husband was screwing his secretary down on the mission. Not because she thought she had it made but more like being rejected and set on a pile and not mustering what it takes to get yourself off it. I wish more that Sorrentino hadn't just told me that her little son Billy was spoiled for when the mistress got along with the kid and the dad without her. It would have meant more to me to earn that. If I'm gonna be on one end of the star I want some light. It is telling when someone repeats to themselves the same kind of lies and sometimes the routine cracks up. That's Marie and her father, John. Sometimes she hates John. Sometimes he's on her side, sometimes he's on Bridget's bed side. That's death bed, praying to God or pretending she is. The wrong side of it, that's what.
I really had the feel of a fake kind of sitcom because of all the how things should be juxtaposed with how they weren't. I wish Sorrentino had cut some of the style out and hadn't expected to see so much out of it. I was worn down by my head in the sand. Dammit, don't just tell me all of this stuff in the questions and answers part! Aberration of Starlight would have been so much better without it. It's not much life living in these kinds of dreams. These aren't the dreams people have on their own. They get them on post cards, in church and under mama's cruel belt. I can't live on post cards. What you tell yourself is interesting. I liked that part. Do I want to know the distance between the journalist and its subject like that? Uh...

Will I read more Gilbert Sorrentino? Oh yes. This one just wasn't a favorite.