To the happy few

Nem sempre temos razão,
Nos defeitos que apontamos;
Nem todas as coisas são
Como nós as encaramos.

— António Aleixo, in Este livro que vos deixo

‘You mean there’s a catch?’
‘Sure there’s a catch,’ Doc Daneeka replied. ‘Catch-22. Anyone who wants to get out of combat duty isn’t really crazy.’

There was only one catch and that was Catch-22, which specified that a concern for one’s own safety in the face of dangers that were real and immediate was the process of a rational mind. Orr was crazy and could be grounded. All he had to do was ask; and as soon as he did, he would no longer be crazy and would have to fly more missions. Orr would be crazy to fly more missions and sane if he didn’t, but if he was sane he had to fly them. If he flew them he was crazy and didn’t have to; but if he didn’t want to he was sane and had to. Yossarian was moved very deeply by the absolute simplicity of this clause of Catch-22 and let out a respectful whistle.

‘That’s some catch, that Catch-22,’ he observed.
‘It’s the best there is,’ Doc Daneeka agreed.

— Joseph Heller, in Catch-22

If I were to give a thorough account of the humor in this book, I would have to quote the whole text, because Heller creates such an intricate web of jokes and references to previous and future events. It is amazing, for a book that was first published in 1955 to feel so modern in this regard.

‘Now, I want you to give a lot of thought to the kind of prayers we’re going to say. I don’t want anything heavy or sad. I’d like you to keep it light and snappy, something that will send the boys out feeling pretty good. Do you know what I mean? I don’t want any of this Kingdom of God or Valley of Death stuff. (…) Haven’t you got anything humorous that stays away from waters and valleys and God? I’d like to keep away from the subject of religion altogether if we can.’

The chaplain was apologetic. ‘I’m sorry, sir, but just about all the prayers I know are rather somber in tone and make at least some passing reference to God.’

‘Now, where were we? Read me back the last line.’
‘ “Read me back the last line,” ‘ read back the corporal who could take shorthand.
‘Not my last line, stupid!’ the colonel shouted. ‘Somebody else’s.’
‘ “Read me back the last line,” ‘ read back the corporal.
‘That’s my last line again!’ shrieked the colonel, turning purple with anger.
‘Oh, no, sir,’ corrected the corporal. ‘That’s my last line.’

‘Cut it out, will you?’ Nately warned in a fierce whisper.
‘Ooooooooooooooooooooh,’ Yossarian moaned a fourth time, this time loudly enough for everyone to hear him distinctly.
‘Are you crazy?’ Nately hissed vehemently. ‘You’ll get into trouble.’
‘Ooooooooooooooooooooh,’ Dunbar answered Yossarian from the opposite end of the room.
Nately recognized Dunbar’s voice. The situation was now out of control, and he turned away with a small moan. ‘Ooh.’
‘Ooooooooooooooooooooh,’ Dunbar moaned back at him.
‘Ooooooooooooooooooooh,’ Nately moaned out loud in exasperation when he realized that he had just moaned.
‘Ooooooooooooooooooooh,’ Dunbar moaned back at him again.
‘Ooooooooooooooooooooh,’ someone entirely new chimed in from another section of the room, and Nately’s hair stood on end.

(…) A number of men who were not moaning were now giggling openly, and there was no telling how far the unorganized insurrection of moaning might have gone if General Dreedle himself had not come forward to quell it (…).

‘That will be all, men,’ (…) ‘I run a fighting outfit,’ (…) ‘and there’ll be no more moaning in this group as long as I’m in command. Is that clear?’

It was clear to everybody but Major Danby, who was still concentrating on his wrist watch and counting down the seconds aloud. ‘…four… three… two… one… time!’ called out Major Danby, and raised his eyes triumphantly to discover that no one had been listening to him and that he would have to begin all over again. ‘Ooooh,’ he moaned in frustration.

‘What was that?’ roared General Dreedle incredulously, and whirled around in a murderous rage upon Major Danby, who staggered back in terrified confusion and began to quail and perspire. ‘Who is this man?’
‘M-major Danby, sir,’ Colonel Cathcart stammered. ‘My group operations officer.’
‘Take him out and shoot him,’ ordered General Dreedle.

— Joseph Heller, in Catch-22

Colonel Cathcart often wondered if what they were doing with the plum tomatoes was legal, but Colonel Korn said it was, and he tried not to brood about it too often. He had no way of knowing whether or not the house in the hills was legal, either, since Colonel Korn had made all the arrangements. Colonel Cathcart did not know if he owned the house or rented it, from whom he had acquired it or how much, if anything, it was costing. Colonel Korn was the lawyer, and if Colonel Korn assured him that fraud, extortion, currency manipulation, embezzlement, income tax evasion and black-market speculations were legal, Colonel Cathcart was in no position to disagree with him.

— Joseph Heller, in Catch-22

Something was on fire! Yossarian whirled to escape and smacked into Aarfy, who had struck a match and was placidly lighting his pipe. Yossarian gaped at his grinning, moon-faced navigator in utter shock and confusion. It occurred to him that one of them was mad.

‘Jesus Christ!’ he screamed at Aarfy in tortured amazement. ‘Get the hell out of the nose! Are you crazy? Get out!’
‘What?’ said Aarfy.
‘Get out!’ Yossarian yelled hysterically, and began clubbing Aarfy backhanded with both fists to drive him away. ‘Get out!’
‘I still can’t hear you,’ Aarfy called back innocently with an expression of mild and reproving perplexity. ‘You’ll have to talk a little louder.’
‘Get out of the nose!’ Yossarian shrieked in frustration. ‘They’re trying to kill us! Don’t you understand? They’re trying to kill us!’
‘Which way should I go, goddam it?’ McWatt shouted furiously over the intercom in a suffering, high-pitched voice. ‘Which way should I go?’
‘Turn left! Left, you goddam dirty son of a bitch! Turn left hard!’

Aarfy crept up close behind Yossarian and jabbed him sharply in the ribs with the stem of his pipe. Yossarian flew up toward the ceiling with a whinnying cry, then jumped completely around on his knees, white as a sheet and quivering with rage. Aarfy winked encouragingly and jerked his thumb back toward McWatt with a humorous moue.

‘What’s eating him?’ he asked with a laugh.

Yossarian was struck with a weird sense of distortion. ‘Will you get out of here?’ he yelped beseechingly, and shoved Aarfy over with all his strength. ‘Are you deaf or something? Get back in the plane!’ And to McWatt he screamed, ‘Dive! Dive!’

Down they sank once more into the crunching, thudding, voluminous barrage of bursting antiaircraft shells as Aarfy came creeping back behind Yossarian and jabbed him sharply in the ribs again. Yossarian shied upward with another whinnying gasp.

‘I still couldn’t hear you,’ Aarfy said.
‘I said get out of here!’ Yossarian shouted, and broke into tears. He began punching Aarfy in the body with both hands as hard as he could. ‘Get away from me! Get away!’

Punching Aarfy was like sinking his fists into a limp sack of inflated rubber. There was no resistance, no response at all from the soft, insensitive mass, and after a while Yossarian’s spirit died and his arms dropped helplessly with exhaustion. He was overcome with a humiliating feeling of impotence and was ready to weep in self-pity.

‘What did you say?’ Aarfy asked.
‘Get away from me,’ Yossarian answered, pleading with him now. ‘Go back in the plane.’
‘I still can’t hear you.’
‘Never mind,’ wailed Yossarian, ‘never mind. Just leave me alone.’
‘Never mind what?’
Yossarian began hitting himself in the forehead.

— Joseph Heller, in Catch-22

Maus is the story of Art Spiegelman’s family, during the second World War; it follows them as they went from freedom to the confinement of the Polish ghettos, and eventually Auschwitz. This comic is an amazing work of art; I find it more impressive than Anne Frank’s diary, in some ways, because they survived. It is hard to imagine what Hell is like, as Thomas Mann said in Doctor Faustus; Maus hints at what goes on “in a sound proof basement, far below the ear of God, and for all eternity”, in the place where “everything ends”.

– Why do you cry, Artie? Hold better on the wood.
– I-I fell, and my friends skated away w-without me.

He stopped sawing.

– Friends? Your friends?… If you lock them together in one room with no food for a week… then you could see what it is, friends!…

— Art Spiegelman, in Maus

The pragmatism of Wintergreen, in Catch-22:

‘What would they do to me,’ he asked in confidential tones, ‘if I refused to fly them?’
‘We’d probably shoot you,’ ex-P.F.C. Wintergreen replied.
‘We?” Yossarian cried in surprise. ‘What do you mean, we? Since when are you on their side?’
‘If you’re going to be shot, whose side do you expect me to be on?’ ex-P.F.C. Wintergreen retorted.

— Joseph Heller, in Catch-22

Catch-22 is probably the funniest book I have ever read, but it is also brilliantly written; the story gradually emerges through the interwoven stories of individual characters and situations. The contrast with the humorous tone makes the gravity of war scenes all the more poignant. Heller’s descriptions become powerful, a strange blend of fantasy and reality, comedy and despair.

‘Help him, help him,’ Dobbs sobbed. ‘Help him, help him.’
‘Help who? Help who?’ called back Yossarian, once he had plugged his headset back into the intercom system.
(…)
‘The bombardier, the bombardier,’ Dobbs answered in a cry when Yossarian spoke. ‘He doesn’t answer, he doesn’t answer. Help the bombardier, help the bombardier.’
‘I’m the bombardier,’ Yossarian cried back at him. ‘I’m the bombardier. I’m all right. I’m all right.’
‘Then help him, help him,’ Dobbs begged. ‘Help him, help him.’

And Snowden lay dying in back.

— Joseph Heller, in Catch-22

‘They’re trying to kill me,’ Yossarian told him calmly.
‘No one’s trying to kill you,’ Clevinger cried.
‘Then why are they shooting at me?’ Yossarian asked.
‘They’re shooting at everyone,’ Clevinger answered. ‘They’re trying to kill everyone.’
‘And what difference does that make?’
(…)
‘Who’s they?’ he wanted to know. ‘Who, specifically, do you think is trying to murder you?’
‘Every one of them,’ Yossarian told him.
‘Every one of whom?’
‘Every one of whom do you think?’
‘I haven’t any idea.’
‘Then how do you know they aren’t?’
‘Because…’ Clevinger sputtered, and turned speechless with frustration.

Clevinger really thought he was right, but Yossarian had proof, because strangers he didn’t know shot at him with cannons every time he flew up into the air to drop bombs on them, and it wasn’t funny at all.

— Joseph Heller, in Catch-22

Joseph Heller creates a mad world, in Catch-22, but Yossarian resists the warped logic of war and keeps his sanity.

‘That crazy bastard.’
‘He’s not so crazy,’ Dunbar said. ‘He swears he’s not going to fly to Bologna.’
‘That’s just what I mean,’ Dr. Stubbs answered. ‘That crazy bastard may be the only sane one left.’

— Joseph Heller, in Catch-22

O protagonista do filme Taxi Driver parece ser uma mente pura num mundo decadente, mas está imerso nele e torna-se indistinguível de tudo o que abomina. No universo de Kafka, K. também é um louco no meio de loucos.

– Bom, tanto faz. Chamarei Artur a ambos. Se eu mandar Artur a qualquer sítio, ireis os dois. Se distribuir um trabalho a Artur, fá-lo-eis ambos. (…) Para mim sois um único homem.

Eles reflectiram um pouco e disseram:

– Isso para nós seria bastante desagradável.
– Como é que podia deixar de ser? – disse K. – Evidentemente que vos deve ser desagradável, mas é assim que fica.

— Franz Kafka, in O Castelo

Milan Kundera explora este tema em Imortalidade, com o jogo de Avenarius.

E de súbito compreendi Avenarius: se nos recusamos a dar importância a um mundo que se julga importante, e se não descobrimos nesse mundo nenhum eco do nosso riso, só nos resta uma solução: transformá-lo num brinquedo. Avenarius joga e o jogo é a única coisa que lhe importa num mundo sem importância. Mas esse jogo não fará rir ninguém e ele sabe-o. Quando expusera os seus projectos aos ecologistas, não era para os divertir. Era para seu próprio divertimento.

— Milan Kundera, in Imortalidade

The ability to quote is a serviceable substitute for wit.

— Somerset Maugham