Part IV . . . Notes, References, and Shoutouts (Chapters 31-34)
(4MiM Supplement #8)
Chapter 31. Your Golden Palomino Boy
“They do not inspire love like our girls. No.”
An awareness of a widespread disparaging of the very nature of boys and men is addressed in this chapter in the form of a question (or lament): ‘Where are the golden sons of Oreana?’ Drawn from an amalgam of instances in real life, posts on social media, and most recently, a Substack article by Janice Fiamengo, “When Feminism is Child Abuse.
“Do I smell french fries?” the captain quipped softly, coming up and standing quite close to her.
See Chapter 28. Tableaux Vivants: “Oreana. Where the gravity is light and the air smells like ‘french fries.’ Once Joanni had become proficient in the language, this is how she jokingly translated the chorus of “her song”—the interstellar hit that had separated her from Jackie and had, ultimately, brought her here.”
“It’s all gypsum and gossamer string,” she assured him.
Wings denoted status on Oreana—the bigger, the more strikingly white, the more individual feathers featured—the better. And there was much chicanery, artifice, and surgical intervention involved concerning them. Most Oreanians sported stubby, yellow-grayish dorsal protrusions of a flaky texture, some had no wings whatsoever. The council members, on the other hand, possessed the best and most beautiful appendages, although which was cause and which was effect was uncertain. Joanni’s modest wings were bestowed as a badge of honor, constructed of gypsum crystals and strung together and attached with pale shimmery string.
After a brief introspective period following the Pargysonian spy fiasco, the ambassador had reverted to his natural temperament.
Refer back to Chapter 25. Reduced in Rank (in His Own Mind) for Gillis’ monologue of self-doubt.
. . . a garish double wing-shaped brooch of mercurochrome red and yellowish-silver Altruzian IV stones . . .
A reminder that the mining colony on Altruz IV was Brennan’s home. Those old enough will remember mercurochrome, the orange-red liquid one’s mother dabbed on scrapes or cuts. It also stained all that it came in contact with.
. . . she was seen by many at this point—and not completely enthusiastically, either—as a pet of the Primora’s.
The broadening of the Primora’s mind. The open spaces of doubt regarding Oreanian orthodoxy were getting larger and larger, and noticed by those of ambition around her.
. . . certainly no word for the barbecued chicken of her past.
See: Chapter 18. The Scent of Peonies, Valve Oil, and Female Desire. “Of how, one humid summer day long ago, she and her parents and Lillian were at a street fair in one of the open towns, and the smoky smell of barbecued chicken wafted towards them, and how she had walked through that drifting cloud of aroma and breathed it in. An aroma not manufactured, or bottled, like her perfume, but emanating from forces outside her ability to purchase.”
One can be overwhelmed by the evocative nature of scent. The smell of certain things produced some of the strongest longings in Joanni.
. . . a gift from her father’s lonely friend to a small girl with big emotions . . .
From the beginning: “It was no surprise, then, that Aunt Edna's nephew one day made up his mind and gifted the curio to his good friend Maurice. And it was not any greater a surprise that a few years later, on her sixteenth birthday, Maurice Neisweinder put it into the hands of a girl who lived with her music and the beautiful world constructed within her own mind.”
For forty some years, Nick Cave has been creating music. Although I knew of him, I never listened to his work—until now. Functioning in a parallel universe, somehow unaware. Not unlike the creatures of Oreana, spinning in orbit in a faraway galaxy, with no knowledge of the clesig vibrations making their way to them from a strange and unsettling planet called Earth. The musical inspiration for Joanni’s farewell:
Top Image: This twilight-colored rock. Source: Detail from “Sita” by Odilon Redon, 1893. The Art Institute of Chicago. CCO Public domain. Edited by J. Weigley