Got the picture?

I've started reading Revolutionary Road by Richard Yates. I'm enjoying it so far, even though, in the back of my mind, I can't stop thinking of Yates as the inspiration for this character in Seinfeld. I can't imagine Lawrence Tierney writing this stuff.

(There's a nice, short version of that story here, if you're interested)

Anyway, in Revolutionary Road, there's an excellent description of one of the main character's theories on working for a living. It's pretty much exactly the same as my approach:

"No, but listen; there're all different kinds of ways of looking at a thing like this, Sam. Look at it this way. I need a job; okay. Is that any reason why the job I get has to louse me up? Look. All I want is to get enough dough coming in to keep us solvent for the next year or so, till I can figure things out; meanwhile I want to retain my own identity. Therefore the thing I'm most anxious to avoid is any kind of work that can be considered 'interesting' in its own right. I want something that can't possibly touch me.

I want some big, swollen old corporation that's been bumbling along making money in its sleep for a hundred years, where they have to hire eight guys for every one job because none of them can be expected to care about whatever boring thing it is they're supposed to be doing. I want to go into that kind of place and say, Look. You can have my body and my nice college-boy smile for so many hours in a day, in exhange for so many dollars, and beyond that we'll leave each other strictly alone. Got the picture?"

That's totally what I think. Particularly: "...the thing I'm most anxious to avoid is any kind of work that can be considered 'interesting' in its own right. I want something that can't possibly touch me."
That really kills me: it's great. I'm only about half way through, so I don't know what will happen to this character. But it certainly seems that he is deluded and fails in his objective, which is a bit of a downer.

I don't want to have similar perspectives to a dick. But I suppose there's a dick out there for all of us; thinking what we think, doing what we do, and making us feel like idiots because of it.

So, it's slightly discouraging. But uplifting too. I like reading about and hearing about things I've already thought, but expressed with more clarity and humour than I can muster.

That's what observational comedy does. We get a thrill from recognition. But I'm not so keen on hearing that a comic has seen things I've seen, or noticed the same foibles or quirks. I like the recognition of ideas.

It's really comforting to know that there are people out there who think about the same things you do - and sometimes even reach the same conclusions. I think it's Mr Kitson who I'm thinking of here (once again).

His observational comedy is less "did you ever notice..." (back to Seinfeld again), and more: "did you ever realise" or even "did you ever feel...". That kind of comedy (or writing or music or whatever) is what I really love.

So, when I was reading the above section of the book, I was enjoying the familiarity of the mindset, I was worried about what it said about my character, but - more than anything - I got a thrill from the fact it existed. I think that's what art is for, I suppose.

I don't want my job to be able to touch me, but art can grope away to its heart's content. Which is a creepy way of saying something quite nice.

Like tattooing a marriage proposal on a dwarf's face, and getting him to jump out of a risotto.