Percival Everett: PARTS of BRAIN: Its Functions (Newly edited, with the recently uncovered Part II: “Eftsoons Irene”)
Percival Everett: PARTS of BRAIN: Its Functions (Newly edited, with the recently uncovered Part II: “Eftsoons Irene”)
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Parerga, Derrida noted, give body to the sculpture and the text. If there is no there there, then what happens to these edges, or the comments that surround the empty center? Diving deep into the pyramid, do we find the pharaoh’s sarcophagus missing? Was it ever there? Grave robbers, or just kingly illusion?
Nota (from my lawyer): The comments (supra) are written by a licensed (Ph.D.) scholar, who expects to be remunerated for any and all utterances connected with his “profession as professor.” Royalties generated by BRAIN should be shared not only with its multiple (and execrable!) authors but also with its commentators in proportion to the verifiable byte count. Yes, spaces and punctuation are to be included in the calculations. Please send account information to this address for regular direct deposits. The critic commenting above thanks you, as I do. Please note that my explanation is longer than his comment and hence more deserving of pay. If paying in person (not recommended), please be careful not to ding the doors of my white Maserati. Lawyer Block (yes, I did make a brief appearance as an infirm lawyer in Franz Kafka’s THE TRIAL).
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So now we have a holograph from the fake “Author,” in his (?) actual (?) handwriting. I have little confidence in the authenticity of this document and guarantee it would not pass muster at a Sotheby’s Auction, should said author already be dead. Two possible relevant sources here for this faked text: 1) The Quixote, part II, in which the poor Don has to contend with an imposter “Quixote” (one wonders what the “actual” Don Quixote might have done with Pierre Menard, years later!); 2) relevant to my previous comment about the dead author (on which this nominal “author” comments him or herself in said holograph, we might recall the brilliant MEMOIRS OF BRAS CUBAS “by” Machado de Assis, neglected and therefore especially brilliant Brazilian auteur. And there’s Emily Dickinson, too, but in brief format, as in “I heard a fly buzz when I died.” Part of the novel, part of the brain.
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I believe the critical edition, evolving above, should lay most of these somewhat querulous and intemperate questions to rest.
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