Chapter 3: Page 15: Line 17 (108)

 Mason has been shov'd about and borne along in riots of sailors attempting to wrest from bands of Medical Students the bodies of Shipmates come to grief ashore, too far from the safety of the Sea,— and he's had his Purse, as his Person, assaulted by Agents public and private,— yet, "There's nothing like it, it's London at its purest," he cries.

* * * * * * * * * *

Line 108 Vulgarized:
The place is always complete chaos. Mason is often stolen from and physically shoved about, by both the law and commoners. He's been caught up in mobs of people fighting over the deceased body, one side always medical students looking for another corpse to dissect, the other either shipmates of the hanged, or Christians trying to keep the body intact for the day of the Lord's judgment and resurrection. Despite of, or perhaps exactly because of, these things, Mason loves it and finds solace in the event, a microcosm of his London home.

Subtext:
I suppose Mason loves London more than I speculated earlier. I felt maybe he'd be uncomfortable in it but apparently he gains comfort from the utter chaos and close proximity of so many others. Perhaps what he is uncomfortable with is being in is his own skin, so he needs the outside stimulus to pull himself out of his own head. He needs the chaos to keep from diving too deeply into his inner self. The public hangings, the death, is the lure for him but once there, he feels comforted by the overwhelming sensory input provided by the crowd.
    Later we'll learn that Mason spent the entire week lost to the change in calendars by himself in some dark otherworldly space while everybody else simply chugged along as if nothing had happened. Perhaps that experience, the fear and the loneliness of that week, has caused him to embrace being around so many others. If he is in close contact with others, no matter how chaotic or violent, it means, maybe, that he won't slip away into a world of his own, and possibly lost there for eternity.
    Whatever the case, Mason either really loves London or he really loves public hangings!

Chapter 3: Page 15: Line 16 (107)

 Mason explains, though without his precise reason for it, that, for the past Year or more, it has been his practice to attend the Friday Hangings at that melancholy place, where he was soon chatting up Hangmen and their 'Prentices, whilst standing them pints at their Local, The Bridport Dagger, acquiring thus a certain grisly intimacy with the Art.

* * * * * * * * * *

Line 107 Vulgarized:
Mason just met Dixon so he's not willing to bare every dark, depressed, macabre recess of his soul to him but he does open up about how something in him has been drawing him to Tyburn every weekend for the last year for the hangings where, afterward, he would wind up in the local pub buying drinks for the executioner and his apprentices who would, in turn, tell him all about their lives as hangmen, and the morbid stories they've gathered because of it.

Subtext:
Mason is obsessed with his mortality and eventual death. Maybe he doesn't quite know it himself yet. Maybe holding back "his precise reason" for attending the public hangings isn't purposeful but inevitable in that he doesn't exactly understand why. But he's definitely dark and depressed, the original Harold or an early modern goth.

A Bridport Dagger is a gallows term for the hangman's noose. So naming the local Tyburn pub "The Bridport Dagger" is pretty much a hat on a hat.

Chapter 3: Page 15: Line 15 (106)

 "Alluring out there, is it?"

* * * * * * * * * *

Line 106 Vulgarized:
"Pretty gruesome, eh?"

Subtext:
Dixon would know, even being from the country, why Tyburn was famous so he's definitely being ironic here. At least in the context of their little dark humor banter. Because he'd also know that the public hangings were about the most alluring thing to the public, drawing huge crowds and generally creating a holiday atmosphere at every drop. So his comment is probably dripping with facetiousness and also judgment, both joking about it being an absolute must place to visit and also how terrible the fact that it has actually become that.

Chapter 3: Page 15: Line 14 (105)

 "You'd appreciate Wapping High Street, then, — and, and Tyburn, of course! put that on your list."

* * * * * * * * * *

Line 105 Vulgarized:
"If you really like violence and gore, you should head down to Wapping High Street or Tyburn!"

Subtext:
Basically the shorthand for capital punishment was simply invoking Tyburn, made famous for hosting public executions for several centuries. Wapping also had its share of public executions being that it had an "Execution Dock" to hang pirates.

I felt like Dixon was being a bit sarcastic with his critique about how hard it was to get in a fight back in Bishop. Mason might have thought that too and so just continues the banter about the violence of London or, possibly, he takes him at face value and so suggests some violent tourist attractions. I like to think Mason isn't so naïve as to be suggesting these places earnestly and he's just having a bit of fun, as Dixon is, with how horribly violent the city can be. A bit of dark humor bonding the pair on their first meeting.

Chapter 3: Page 15: Line 13 (104)

 "Just so,— why, back in Bishop, it might take half the night to find an excuse to clash someone i' the Face, whilst in London, 'tis the Paradise of the Quarrelsome, for fair...?"

* * * * * * * * * *

Line 104 Vulgarized:
"Back home, you'd have to walk around for four or five hours before finding some piddling excuse to punch a guy in the head. For those prone to violence, London, where everybody gives you an excuse to smack them in the face, it must be heaven, no?"

Subtext:
If you love punching people in the throat because they looked at you funny, you should move to the big city. Also, if you love looking at people funny, maybe move to the country.

Chapter 3: Page 14: Lines 11-12 (102-103)

 "Oh, one may, if one wishes, find Insult at ev'ry step,— from insolent Stares to mortal Assault, an Orgy of Insult uninterrupted,— yet how does one proceed to call out each offender in turn, or choose among 'em, and in obedience to what code? So, one soon understands it, as yet another Term in the Contract between the City and oneself,— a function of simple Destiny, ensuring that there never be time enough to acknowledge, let alone to resent, such a mad Variety of offer'd Offense."

* * * * * * * * * *

Lines 102-103 Vulgarized:
"Sure, people in the city suck. But what can you do? There isn't enough time in the day to react to every offence, and even if you tried, by what system could you manage it? Once realizing that you simply don't have time to pursue consolation for every insult, you learn to live with it as part of life in the city."

Subtext:
Mason doesn't have the imagination to become The Batman. Batman doesn't seem to have a hard time picking and choosing who needs to have their asses beat. And he keeps a strict obedience to his code which is to injure and maim and bring to as close to death as possible anybody committing any crime for any reason, whether that reason be evil intent, mental illness, or crushing poverty. They all get the same fist in the face. That's Batman's Contract between him and Gotham (which really fits the description of "a mad Variety of offer'd Offense."

Chapter 3: Page 14: Lines 7-10 (98-101)

 "Eeh! Fellow was spitting at my Shoes...? Another pushing folk one by one into the Gutters, some of them quite dangerous to look at'...? How can Yese dwell thah' closely together, Day upon Day, without all growing Murderous?"

* * * * * * * * * *

Lines 98-101 Vulgarized:
"Shit! Some dude spit on me? And some other guy was shoving people into the street, people who looked quite capable of random violence themselves? How the hell can y'all live rubbing up on each other all the time without just wanting to kill somebody?"

Subtext:
Dixon probably killed a guy for spitting on his shoes. But then, what city dweller hasn't? Dixon reaches the conclusion that people manage to live in cities without becoming murderous when he should reach the conclusion that those of us living in cities have all committed hundreds and hundreds of murders, even if they were all in our heads and usually about somebody ahead of us in a queue being a complete and utterly disrespectful, entitled asshole to the barista. I was going to say "clerk" but what am I? A small town rural who "shops"?! Ninety-five percent of my daily human interactions are with a caffeine supplier. What I'm saying, aside from the confession that I need to buy a coffee maker, is that to "become murderous" one does not have to physically commit murder. Imagining the blowhard honking his horn at the car in front of him as that car waits for pedestrians to cross immediately crashing into a lamppost and smashing his brains out on the inside of the windshield after angrily peeling out when the traffic begins to move can absolutely be considered "murderous."

Chapter 3: Page 14: Line 6 (97)

 Howsobeit,— scarcely have they met, in the Saloon of Mason's Inn at Portsmouth, than Mason finds himself coming the Old London Hand, before Dixon's clear Stupefaction with that Town.

* * * * * * * * * *

Line 97 Vulgarized:
Anyway, getting back to my story . . . immediately upon meeting at the bar of the place Mason was staying in Portsmouth, about seventy miles southwest of London and across the strait from the Isle of Wight, Mason realizes that he's lightyears more sophisticated, concerning urban living, than the rube Dixon.

Subtext:
Mason is City Mouse and Dixon is Country Mouse. But Mason is only City Mouse because Dixon is so completely Country Mouse. It's more like Country Mouse and Mouse That Can Get Along in the City But He's Not Really Comfortable There. I'd say that book doesn't sound as catchy but I guess I'm reading that book right now! Mouse That Can Get Along in the City But He's Not Really Comfortable There & Country Mouse by Thomas Pynchon.

Chapter 3: Page 14: Line 5 (96)

 O children, I even dream'd in those Days,— but only long after the waking Traverse was done.

* * * * * * * * * *

Line 96 Vulgarized:
Sure, I dreamed, you creepy kids. But only after each day's survey was done. I assure you I was completely awake for the things I'm about to tell you. My dreams did not intrude. You must believe, the crazy things in this story were absolutely part of the waking world.

Subtext:
This line was somewhat confusing for me. At first it seemed like Cherrycoke was saying he didn't dream until long after the survey work they did was done, as if he were not entirely comfortable until long after, or he didn't really get much sleep during their work, and so couldn't dream. But he also says "I even dream'd in those Days" which suggests, yeah, he was dreaming during that time. And, in defending himself against the statement that he wrote in his sleep, he's pointing out that the dreaming did not coincide at all with his memories of the waking day. Ultimately, I feel like this line is Cherrycoke's assurance that his story isn't wild fantasy; it isn't, in any way, a dream. Cherrycoke's response to the kids is basically, "You don't think I can tell dreams from reality?! I assure you, I can. Now let me tell you about this dog that could speak English."

Chapter 3: Page 14: Line 4 (95)

 ("Writing in your sleep, too!" cry the Twins.)

* * * * * * * * * *

Line 95 Vulgarized:
Interrupting Cherrycoke's narrative, barely one paragraph in, the monstrous Twins shout, in unison, "Writing in your sleep, too!"

Subtext:
The Twins are making a callback to how Cherrycoke was falling asleep while telling his story last time they gathered (which is why they brought him coffee). They're critics allowed to critique the story in real time, asking, in their weird and unsettling way, "How much can we rely on the truth of your stories when you not only tell them while falling asleep but you've written them down the same way?! Are your 'personal histories' simply half dream journals as well?!" And judging by the kinds of things that Cherrycoke will profess happened to them all, it's not a bad question from the twins.

Chapter 3: Page 14: Line 3 (94)

 I tried to record, in what I then projected as a sort of Spiritual Day-Book, what I could remember of what they said,— tho' 'twas too often abridg'd by the Day's Fatigue.

* * * * * * * * * *

Line 94 Vulgarized:
At the end of the day, I wrote down what Mason & Dixon told me in my personal journal with the cute little fuzzy God stickers on it, but I wasn't particularly detailed in my account due to my weariness from the hardships of the day.

Subtext:
Pynchon is just making sure the slower learners in the room catch what he's been saying by adding even more reasons for why the account of Mason and Dixon's first meeting, no matter how seemingly close to first hand sources it might be, is almost purely speculation and fiction by this point. Cherrycoke wasn't there. Mason and Dixon tell him the story via their memory of it. Cherrycoke doesn't immediately write it down but goes about his day. Only when he's finally tired and ready for bed does he jot down what he can remember. And of course there's one more obstacle in the way of a perfect revelation of the meeting: Cherrycoke's interpretation of what he wrote after reading it later, possibly years later in preparation for telling this story. I'd suggest that his handwriting would also be a factor but have you seen the handwriting of people from the 18th century? It's generally immaculate!
    So the first paragraph of Chapter 3 is Pynchon putting his defenses up! What is history?! Can't fantastic speculative fiction about events that took place well over two hundred years ago tell a kind of truth about today through outrageous fantastic and paranormal events? Is it somehow worse than history when history is no better than a game of telephone played out over decades, centuries, even millennium?

Chapter 3: Page 14: Line 2 (93)

 I later heard from them how they remember'd meeting.

* * * * * * * * * *

Line 93 Vulgarized:
Mason and Dixon told me, later, how they remembered their first encounter with each other.

Subtext:
Not only did Reverend Cherrycoke not see their meeting firsthand, he must rely on Mason & Dixon's memory of that first meeting. Knowing how memory works, Mason and Dixon's original meeting has already been replaced by the way Mason and Dixon remember their meeting. And now Cherrycoke will describe to his audience how he remembers Mason and Dixon remembering that meeting. That's history. It's an unreliable narrator telling other people's memories as best as they can remember them. We like to think of history as inviolable text, handed down from trusted authorities. But what it really is is a story rife with bias, prejudice, exaggeration, misremembrances, and patches made out of whole cloth.
    What Pynchon is setting up is an answer to this question: "How much truth is in Pynchon's novel?" And his answer is simply, "How much truth is in history?"

Chapter 3: Page 14: Line 1 (92)

 I was not there when they met,— or, not in the usual Way.

* * * * * * * * * *

Line 92 Vulgarized:
I wasn't physically there when they met. But it's like I was there and after I tell you about how they met, it'll be like you were there too. That's sort of how stories work!

Subtext:
Reading history is like being an observer from a point far in the future. When you remember an event you took part in, you're not at the event, not in the usual way. You're an outside observer even though you originally took part in that event. It's the same thing when you hear a story or read about an event you didn't take part in. It's like looking at the event through memory, even if that memory isn't yours. But in some sense, the person who did take part consulting their memory is exactly like a person who didn't take part consulting history. We can all be at an event, no matter where we are in space and time. Maybe "not in the usual way" but via history and communication and stories.

Chapter 2: Page 13: Line 18 (91)

 Wishing you a journey south as safe as His Ways how strange, may allow, I wait your arrival in a Spirit happily rescu'd by your universally good Name, from all Imps of the Apprehensive,— an Exception most welcome, in the generally uneasy Life of
    y'r obdt. Svt.,
    Charles Mason

* * * * * * * * * *

Line 91 Vulgarized:
God bless your journey on the road, if it be His will and not one of those weird moments of His will where He determines maybe you need to suffer a badger attack or some other insanity. I'm thrilled to hear you'll be joining us (probably because you wrote so kindly of me and not because I actually knew who you were before hand). Knowing you'll be my assistant has eased my anxiety, something which happens far too little in my poor life.
    Yours truly,
    Charlie Mason

Subtext:
Mason is an anxious and generally depressed man who can't even gather enough confidence to wish somebody "Godspeed" without also pointing out that he has no control over God's actual wishes and that sometimes God is kind of a jerk. The amount of stomach trouble this poor guy must go through over possible catastrophes looming in his future must be off the scale. How much teeth grinding and garment rending was he doing over the appointment of an assistant on his journey?
    I'm not generally an anxious person but I get Mason's unease about the choice of person who will be traveling with him for such an extended period of time. He seems happy about it, for the moment, in this letter. But Dixon is almost certainly going to annoy him to no end when he arrives, especially since everybody now knows he was lying his ass off in the letter.

Chapter 2: Page 13: Line 17 (90)

 Each of us is to have his own twin Telescope, by Mr. Dollond, fitted with the latest of his marvellous Achromatics,— our Clock by Mr. Ellicott,— and of course the Sector by your Mr. Bird,— none but the best for this Party, I should say!

* * * * * * * * * *

Line 90 Vulgarized:
For our viewing of the Transit of Venus, and for as accurate data as we can manage, we will both have a pair of twin-telescopes for help with binocular vision of the Transit, fitted with the best lenses by Mr. John Dolland. We shall also have clocks by John Ellicott. And of course, your teacher, John Bird, has supplied us with sector compasses for making circles or measuring arcs or whatever. No expense has been spared by the Astronomer Royal.

Subtext:
Every male living in the 18th century (except Mason and Dixon) had the first name of John.

Chapter 2: Page 13: Line 16 (89)

 Howbeit,— pray you hesitate not, in asking what you like, as I shall ever try to answer honestly,— if probably not in toto.

* * * * * * * * * *

Line 89 Vulgarized:
Even so, please don't feel that you can't ask me something, for no matter the question, I shall answer to the best of my ability, although my answer, due to my lack of knowledge, may not be entirely satisfactory.

Subtext:
Mason is willing to admit that he isn't an expert in everything which is the sign of a good teacher. So he's already, in this subsequent line, proving that he's a better teacher than he believes he is.
    Mason also might be inventing the phrase "There are no stupid questions." I'm pretty sure Socrates didn't invent the saying because—Goddamn!—Plato asked some real humdingers.

"So picture a wolf," begins Socrates in one of his daily lectures.
    "Wait. Am I picturing a real wolf or an image of what I believe a wolf is?" asks Plato from the first step of the small forum.
    "Just picture a wolf, Plato."
    "I just want to get this straight. If I picture a wolf in my head, it's not a real wolf. So I'm sort of confused about what you're asking." Somebody from the back of the forum winged a piece of chalk at the back of Plato's head, missing because he had the arm and aim of a philosophy nerd.
    "You know what I mean, Plato. How about, since we're basically inventing philosophy, we not turn it into a weird game of supposes and actuallys?"
    "I mean, sure, you can say that but you're denying the interplay of the physical world, abstract thinking, and logical deduction!"
    Socrates rubs his head, sighs, and glances at the hemlock sitting on the table. "Fucking kill me now."

Chapter 2: Page 13: Line 15 (88)

 Yet I fear, the Doubts may with justice fall more upon your side, for I have never taught anyone, upon any Subject, nor may I prove much skill'd at it.

* * * * * * * * * *

Line 88 Vulgarized:
Yes, you flatter my abilities and believe I should, due to experience, doubt your abilities. But it is you who should doubt my abilities as a teacher, having never taught a single subject to a single student. I may well be quite terrible at it.

Subtext:
I was hoping I would identify more with Dixon than with Mason due to my notes on the title page of my copy of Mason & Dixon which I read in 1997. "MASON: depressed/dark, Paranoid? Dress: dull grays. Wine drinker. DIXON: Jovial, country, more outstanding of two, Dress: bright reds, Enjoys Beer." But this exchange of letters highlighting some of their personality traits suggests I'm more a Mason type. I would be much less likely to write a flattering letter full of lies in the hopes of gaining a job I was interested in. But I could see myself answering a letter flattering me by laying out all the reasons why the flattery is misapplied, trying to wriggle out from under the responsibility implied by such glowing compliments.

"You, sir, are terrific at that thing!"
"Oh, no! I am merely mediocre at it, or perhaps completely terrible. Do not put this kind of pressure upon me by implying I have more ability than I might be able to muster!"

The Non-Certified Spouse once described me as "a gregarious misanthrope" to my old high school friend Soy Rakelson. It's a fairly accurate two-word summation of me and those two big words coming out of the mouth of somebody who wasn't currently nose deep in a dictionary blew Soy's mind (not that his mind was hard to blow). So I'd say I'm probably half Mason and half Dixon, like some kind of line of demarcation between the two personalities. I wish I could think of a better metaphor!

Chapter 2: Page 13: Line 14 (87)

 Sir,—

I have yours of the 26ᵗʰ Ult. and am much oblig'd for your kind opinion.—

* * * * * * * * * *

Line 87 Vulgarized:
Dear Jeremiah Dixon, Wordsmith and Candidate for my Assistant on the Transit of Venus,

I received your letter from the 26th of last month and was super flattered by your flatterous flattery of me.

Subtext:
Eddie Haskell had the right idea. People love to be buttered up. Eddie's problem was he looked too much like a weasel and he attempted the flattery in person. As soon as he left the room, Mr. and Mrs. Beaver were always all, "That boy sure talks a good game but I don't trust his weird skinny face. Also whenever Wally is in trouble, Eddie's with him. But he's so nice and flattering! Could our son be the problem?!" Then they would just put away the milk bottle Wally left out and begin speculating on what idiotic thing The Cleaver was going to do that week.

I would like to get a flattering letter some time. My first year out of state in college, I once got a letter from the girl I had a crush on where she said she loved me like a brother. Was that flattering? It just seemed cruel and world-destroying at the time.

Thinking on it after all these years, I still think it was cruel and world-destroying but also probably a lie. What she really wanted to say was almost certainly, "You're being pathetic and I don't know how to deal with this. Please go get laid and forget about me. You're in college, you loser. I am sucking two dicks as I write this."

Chapter 2: Page 13: Line 13 (86)

 To,— Mr. Jeremiah Dixon
Bishop Auckland, Co. Durham.

* * * * * * * * * *

Line 86 Vulgarized:
Jeremiah Dixon
Bishop Auckland
County Durham
Great Britain

Subtext:
It's just the header to a letter! But it does contain one of those weird combination comma/em dashes. I guess that was how you em dashed in the 1700s. I only bring it up now, after 86 lines, because there's nothing else to write about. I could mention how I messed up Line 1 of Chapter 2 by putting the "Esteem'd Sir" in the header instead of including it at the beginning of the letter starting on Line 2. But since I don't have an editor, I'm going to make loads and loads of mistakes like that! I know, I know. You're not surprised by the revelation that I don't have an editor after I wrote the phrase, "that was how you em dashed in the 1700s."

Chapter 2: Page 13: Lines 11-12 (84-85)

 "Yet, 'twas so sincere,— I instantly felt sham'd,— unworthy,— that this honest Country soul believ'd me wise.— Ahhrr! bitter Deception...."

* * * * * * * * * *

Lines 84-85 Vulgarized:
"I believed rubes were earnest and truthful, especially when they're complimenting me. And now you reveal to me it was a calculated attempt at flattery while you were dreaming of getting drunk?! Oh, the humanity!"

Subtext:
Flattery works. Also guilt. It's kind of a one-two punch that convinces Mason to hire Dixon. If Mason hadn't considered throwing the letter away because it was from some provincial locale, meaning it had nothing useful to offer somebody working for the Astronomer Royal, then the subsequent stroking of his ego within would not have produced an intense feeling of guilt in him. Without the guilt, he might not feel he owed some kind of recompense or reparation to the letter writer for thinking the letter contained nothing worthwhile. But then, after reading it, he realized Dixon did have something beautiful and honest to say, turned around by the flattery to Mason's wisdom, which is something we all want to believe we are, and thus take to heart when somebody expresses it (no matter how much we ignore everything else they say (I'm referencing a personal anecdote: that time my cousin told me the story about how Soy Rakelson told him, "Everybody is really smart but you . . . you're wise." My cousin telling the story, drunk, nearly in tears at somebody having seen to their heart of hearts. But then, of course, I ruined the moment and said, "Soy Rakelson? The guy whose catch phrase was 'I want an original thought!'? The guy who couldn't grasp that philosophers across the ages were engaged in dialogue so every time he learned about the next philosopher arguing against previous philosophical thought, wondered why he had to learn about the previous guy since his philosophy was just trashed by the next guy and so it obviously wasn't The Truth, and why learn anything if it isn't The Truth? 'Just get to the last guy with The Truth!' he'd scream, red faced and sweating. That guy thought you were wise and you decided, this one time at least, 'Soy is quite perceptive!' Seriously?!")).
    Poor, earnest Mason. I should try to get the Non-Certified Spouse to start saying, "Ahhrr! bitter Deception," for every time I say something facetious because I think it's funny and not because I'm trying to fool her but she gets fooled anyway.

Chapter 2: Page 13: Line 10 (83)

 Mason in turn confesses to having nearly thrown the Letter away, having noted its origin in County Durham, and assumed it to be but more of the free provincial advice that it was one of his Tasks to read thro' in the Astronomer Royal's behalf, and respond to.

* * * * * * * * * *

Line 83 Vulgarized:
Mason points out part of his job was to respond to his boss's mail but he often threw away letters from provincial places like Durham County rather than respond to their hick requests or folksy rural suggestions.

Subtext:
The subtext is either that Mason is an urban elite who looks down on rural folk or that Pynchon constantly thinks about drinking while writing his novels and throws away any fan letters that find their way to his house, especially if they're from people from small towns offering him writing advice. I wonder if people send him suggestions for things to write? If I simply address an envelope to "Thomas Pynchon, the Novelist," do you think it would find its way to him? I'd really like him to write a novel about Britain in the mid-to-late 90s with the Spice Girls as the protagonists.

Chapter 2: Pages 12-13: Lines 7-9 (80-82)

 "Went thro' twenty Revisions, dreaming all the while of the Pint awaiting me down at The Jolly Pitman. Then the Pint after that, of course, and so forth.... Growing more desirable with each stricken Phrase, if tha follow me,— "

* * * * * * * * * *

Lines 80-82 Vulgarized:
"If I didn't have any other responsibilities, I would simply drink beer. Lots and lots of beer! But sometimes I'm obliged to focus on something that enables me to afford all of the beer, meaning that thing is too important to be doing while drinking beer, and, let me tell you, it's a struggle, if you know what I'm saying."

Subtext:
Dixon really likes beer and/or really hates work. The name of the pub reinforces that hot take by pointing out that pitmen, or coal miners, only become jolly when, like Dixon, they're down at the pub having a pint. But of course, in their case, work is deadly and awful and who wouldn't dream of having a pint all day long while knowing having a pint during their work day could easily kill them and their entire crew. Meanwhile, Dixon is simply trying to write one flattering letter to some emo guy down at the observatory.
    The best part about Dixon's confession is that he isn't just dreaming of having a pint or drinking. He's actively daydreaming about having the second pint after the first one. And then the third. As if he understands the subtle differences and pleasures of each pint building on the previous pint. He's definitely an expert drinker.

Chapter 2: Page 12: Line 6 (79)

 A few months later, when it is no longer necessary to pretend as much as they expected they'd have to, Dixon reveals that, whilst composing this, he had delib'rately refrain'd from Drink.

* * * * * * * * * *

Line 79 Vulgarized:
After spending months of long days together and sharing close quarters, after they've quickly become quite intimate fellows, sharing more of themselves than they first believed they might, Dixon admits to purposefully remaining sober while writing his introductory letter.

Subtext:
Dixon desired the job with Mason so much that he refused alcohol while crafting his letter of introduction. That's a pretty good basis for understanding how much you want the job you're applying for. No alcohol? You're really trying! One or two beers? It'd be nice but no big loss. Half a bottle of vodka? Simply applying because unemployment demands you submit a certain number of resumes each week.
    It also sounds like Dixon maybe didn't think he'd like Mason too much, and vice versa. But they seem to have hit it off which is good because I want this book to be a good buddy movie and not one of those two guys who hate each other on a road trip movies.

Chapter 2: Page 12: Line 5 (78)

 In this, as in all else,—
Y'r obd't s'v't.
Jeremiah Dixon.—

* * * * * * * * * *

Line 78 Vulgarized:
Sincerely yours,
Jeremiah Dixon

Subtext:
There isn't any subtext. This is how everybody signed letters in the 1700s. Everybody was suddenly everybody else's eager servant. And they acted like vowels were a rare commodity not to be wasted. But I guess apostrophes were as plentiful as Passenger Pigeons.

Chapter 2: Page 12: Line 4 (77)

 Tho' 'tis true, that in my own Work I have recourse much more often to the Needle, than to the Stars,— yet, what I lack in Celestial experience, I pray I may counterpend with Diligence and a swift Grasp,— as, clearly, I cannot pretend to your level of Art, Sir, gladly would I adopt, as promptly as benefit from, any suggestions you might direct toward improving the level of my own.

* * * * * * * * * *

Line 77 Vulgarized:
I'm more comfortable around a compass and a plumb line than a telescope and a sextant, it's true. But I hope that my work ethic and ability to learn will make up for my lack of astronomical experience. I know I can't compare my ability to yours but if you can make suggestions on how to improve, I would certainly incorporate your advice into my work and surely improve my skills.

Subtext:
Dixon is really laying it on thick. If this were the "vulgarized" part of the entry, I'd probably say something crude about Dixon's tongue and Mason's butthole. But since this is the subtext part, I'd say Dixon desperately wants this job so he's willing to use whatever, and however much, flattery he can dream up.

Chapter 2: Page 12: Line 3 (76)

 Despite what Re-assurances you may have had from Mr. Bird and Mr. Emerson, and I hope others, as to my suitability,— yet, yourself being Adjunct to the Prime Astronomer of the Kingdom, 'twould be strange,— not odd of course, but unexpected, rather, — if you did not entertain a professional Doubt, or even two, as to my Qualifications.

* * * * * * * * * *

Line 76 Vulgarized:
I know I'm just a small-time amateur astronomer and surveyor and you're a big time second-in-command to the ultimate astronomer in Great Britain, so it would be weird if you didn't have some worries about my effectiveness on this trip, even after hearty recommendations from fellow astronomer John Bird and esteemed mathematician William Emerson.

Subtext:
Jeremiah Dixon writes a sentence like he's posting it on Twitter and knows five million Internet trolls are just waiting to jump all over him with their purposeful misunderstanding of what he's saying. So he clarifies multiple times, just to increase the likelihood that the message can't be willfully misinterpreted. This is probably just the style of the time. Being abundant letter writers, they probably knew much better than modern communicators how easy it was for somebody to misinterpret something in a letter that would be easily clarified in a face-to-face conversation.
    Dixon also sounds a little bit like he's humble bragging. He's saying he believes it would be normal for Mason to doubt his ability in the same breath that he's saying, "Look at these big names vouching for me. And I'm sure some others as well. But I don't want you, a big time astronomer with a fat dick yourself, to think I'm swinging my big old surveyor's dick around, so I'll put in this bit that acknowledges that maybe you might still have a doubt or two. But, I mean, you shouldn't. You did read those names backing me right? Bird? Emerson? Fwee-hooo! Them's some smart cookies suggested me for this trip!"

Chapter 2: Page 12: Line 2 (75)

 As I have the honor of being nam'd your Second, upon the propos'd Expedition to Sumatra, to observe the Transit of Venus, I hope I do not err, in introducing myself thus.

* * * * * * * * * *

Line 75 Vulgarized:
I'm going to be your right hand man on this trip to Sumatra to do some tricky astronomy thing that will help figure out the distance between the Earth and the sun and what-not and I hope I don't mess up this letter of introduction to you so you think you're traveling with a jerk.

Subtext:
Mason is in charge and they're going to Sumatra. But since they're never going to make it to Sumatra, does that open the door for other parts of this statement being wrong? Like maybe Dixon is going to be more of the authority figure and push Mason around? In a jovial and whimsical way, I mean! Like Mason will be a total emo pushover and Dixon will walk all over him, or maybe dance?
    Maybe sometimes there isn't any subtext. More probable, I'm not smart enough to find the subtext. I bet there's some sexy subtext in the phrase "Transit of Venus." Ooh la la!

Chapter 2: Page 12: Line 1 (74)

 To Mr. Mason, Assistant to the Astronomer Royal,
At Greenwich
Esteem'd Sir,—

* * * * * * * * * *

Line 74 Vulgarized:
To Charles Mason, Assistant to the Royal Astronomer at Greenwich
Dear sir,

Subtext:
It's just the heading and the greeting of a letter to astronomer Charles Mason. I probably should have split the header and greeting into two separate lines but I don't have time for that kind of nonsense. I have nothing to say about the header and I have nothing to say about the greeting! So I might as well just count them as one line!

The post of Astronomer Royal was created by King Charles in 1675. Its main goal was to discover the longitude of places by studying planets and stars so as to improve global navigation. I'm not sure what year this letter to Mason (from Dixon) was supposedly sent so I don't know which Astronomer Royal Mason was assistant to. It was probably James Bradley but also could have been Nathaniel Bliss. That's a weird thing to type on the Internet where I could easily find out that information! But I'll just keep myself in suspense for the time being. Was it Bradley or Bliss?! I'm on tenterhooks!

Chapter 1: Page 11: Line 73

 So, with this no doubt well-meant advice finding its way into the midwatch sounds of waves past my sleeping-place, I set sail upon an Engine of Destruction, in the hope that Eastward yet might dwell something of Peace and Godhead, which British Civilization, in venturing Westward, had left behind,— and thus was consternation the least of my feelings when, instead of supernatural Guidance from Lamas old as time, here came Jean Crapaud a-looming,— thirty-four guns' worth of Disaster, and only one Lesson.

* * * * * * * * * *

Line 73 Vulgarized:
I soon found myself aboard the 24-gun warship, the Seahorse, alone on my bunk, feeling calm and listening to the sounds of the midnight crew on duty while remembering the bureaucrat's advice. We were headed for India where I hoped I might find some sort of spiritual peace to ease my being, the kind of mystical peace one could no longer find in Great Britain which symbolically, by moving away from this land of peace and spirituality, moved toward strife and war while expanding westward. But before my ship could make its destination, we were beset upon by the pirate Jean Crapaud whose ship outgunned us, certainly to be our doom.

Subtext:
By heading back to India from England, a trip from a younger country to an older one, Cherrycoke symbolically travels back in time. The trip is an analogy for nostalgia in that he's leaving the modern, the present, the place that makes one feel anxious and fearful, where one longs for the ease of the past. He sees India as that place, a society of "Peace and Godhead," much like one views the peacefulness of childhood. It is why Cherrycoke feels no "consternation" as he sets sail. He may not be heading home but he's heading toward what home once meant to him before it betrayed and banished him: peace and tranquility.
    But we all know that saying about not being able to go home again because home isn't the physical space in the present but the memory of the past. And here, Cherrycoke, for a few glorious hours maybe, actually feels maybe he can achieve that quality of homeliness in the East before Crapaud teaches him that "one Lesson." You know the one. The one about home but probably vaguer. More like "Life is hard, buddy!" or "You don't always get what you want" or "Don't count your chickens" or "Life is like a ship of pirates. It's what happens to you when you're dreaming about a nice vacation in India."
    Pynchon might also be comparing moving westward as a kind of loss of innocence. In a way, technology and civilization become more modern, more urban as one move westward. Greater technology and more reliance on city life is less bucolic and therefore less natural and less innocent. City life is sinful. The country is idyllic. And, especially according to Western Civilization itself, moving west means entering more modern territory. It's growing up. It's moving into the future. This is representational of a loss of innocence. And that loss cannot be found again which is why Jean Crapaud has to crap all over Cherrycoke's dreams.

Chapter 1: Page 10: Lines 67-72

 "Madness has not impair'd your memory. Good. Keep away from harmful Substances, in particular Coffee, Tobacco and Indian Hemp. If you must use the latter, do not inhale. Keep your memory working, young man! Have a safe Voyage."

* * * * * * * * * *

Lines 67-72 Vulgarized:
"Yes, good answer. You do owe us everything. Now, when you travel to the New World, keep away from the good stuff like coffee, cigarettes, and weed. If you find yourself in a situation where you can do naught but give in to peer pressure, don't inhale the pot. It'll affect your memory and we don't want you to forget how much you owe us! Now get the fuck out of here."

Subtext:
Cherrycoke earlier pointed out how bad his memory has become which could mean a number of things. First off, unlike Bill Clinton who Pynchon is referencing here, Cherrycoke may have inhaled. A lot. Second, a "good memory" to this bureaucrat sending him off (with a "Have a safe Voyage" ending in a period and not an exclamation point which basically means "I don't fucking care if your voyage is safe or not. Just get out.") is one that remembers it owes everything to Britain and the Crown and the Aristocracy and the Law. The line "Keep your memory working" basically means "remember your debt to us." So later in his life (previously in the chapter), when Cherrycoke mentions how bad his memory has gotten, he could also be pointing out that he's absolutely abandoned all loyalty and belief that he owes his father or his country of birth anything except maybe a huge middle finger. He is explicitly stating that he has removed the shackles placed on him at birth and throughout his youth. By expressing how bad his memory has gotten, Cherrycoke is expressing his freedom from the tyranny of their authority.
    Plus we already know Cherrycoke loves caffeine and coffee which means we know, as soon as he's importuned to avoid such substances, he absolutely ignores the advice.

Chapter 1: Page 10: Lines 65-66

 "Would one of my Condition even know how to object, my Lord? I owe you everything."

* * * * * * * * * *

Lines 65-66 Vulgarized:
"Please don't put me in a madhouse. I'll do anything you want."

Subtext:
This response breaks my heart. Because what can you do? How do you respond to "If you're complaining, we'll give you something to complain about" when they're already giving you plenty to complain about? You just kiss the ring and find a way to get out of Dodge. Swallow that fucking pride and get on that boat; it's the only chance for freedom Cherrycoke has at this point.

And so we're learning that Cherrycoke sought justice in an authoritarian society and was punished for it. The title "Reverend," whether technically accurate or not, is at least figuratively accurate. He seems to want to help make the world a better place. And they're not going to allow him to try in Britain anymore. But there are people in the New World, such of them! That's not a typo; it's just a stupid play on words which Occam's Razor would suggest is a typo which is why I typed this sentence following.

Chapter 1: Page 10: Lines 60-64

 "Are you saying that a sixth-rate is beneath you? Would you prefer to remain ashore, and take up quarters in Bedlam? It has made a man of many in your Situation. Some have come to enjoy fairly meaningful lives there. Or if it's some need for the Exotic, we might arrange for a stay in one of the French Hospitals...."

* * * * * * * * * *

Lines 60-64 Vulgarized:
"Oh? You have a problem with us treating you like less than a person? Ignoring your will and your desires? Some miniscule nothing so far beneath the true mechanisms of power . . . you have a problem with the terrible voyage we're sending you on? Well, if you're going to make trouble, we can always offer you worse. How about a stay in the insane asylum? That should put some hair on your chest. Other patients we've sent there to die have found meaning in their final years cut short by the imprisonment and torture. Or if you're really intent on some high and mighty adventure, how about the insane asylums in France? They're really fucking horrendous!"

Subtext:
People in positions of power believe they can do whatever they want to anybody with less power and those people should express unending gratitude for the meager scraps of attention and care they've been given. And if they don't express gratitude for what amounts to nothing, less than nothing, or worse than nothing, authority figures believe punitive measures are called for. "How dare the peasants want more than they have? Don't they know we could be torturing and murdering them?!" Which of course they are doing to them but not in a way that seems unhealthy to the rich and powerful. "Sure their children starve because we hoard all the resources and give them no opportunity for financial stability. But it's not like we're hunting them for sport!"
    Listen to Them for They are often explicit in what They're saying.

I first read this book when I was twenty-five and I don't remember being this sympathetic to Reverend Cherrycoke. Like Slothrop, he really has been at the mercy of far greater powers. He's been manipulated right out of Britain by Them, simply for striving for some kind of justice. Which means, possibly, that many of the other characters we meet in Cherrycoke's travels across America were also people fighting against the system and driven across the sea in an effort to escape. This really falls in line with my theory about frontiers, our tendency to flee rather than fight corrupt systems, and why the left coast of America is as liberal as it is, for the most part.
    That theory, in brief (and in regards to white Western Civilization only. That's the "in brief" part. There are plenty of problems with how this "expansion toward the frontier" played out), is that those who don't fit in with the current society rarely have the power to fight back and change it. So they were always driven out, generally toward the frontier. My favorite books all seemed to be about how the protagonist fought against the system but ultimately could only flee. Catch-22. One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. Possibly House of Leaves (any commentary on House of Leaves must begin with "possibly"). Even The Grapes of Wrath although Tom Joad threatens to keep fighting before he disappears. People throughout history rarely had the ability to change corrupt systems from the bottom up. So they just left to find their own way. Which meant the most liberal people fleeing wound up on the west coast of America. Where they suddenly found nowhere else to flee. Which meant they had to fight. Of course things are getting worse and more "uncivil." Because the assholes of the world have nowhere else to drive us to. They've got our backs against the wall and they still think they can do whatever the fuck they want to us. And we're not taking their Nurse Ratched shit anymore.

Chapter 1: Page 10: Line 59

 "Can this be Objection we hear?" I was greeted.

* * * * * * * * * *

Line 59 Vulgarized:
"Hey look, boys! This guy thinks we give a shit about his personal preferences! Looks like we didn't punish him enough, wot?!" sneered the clerk, flicking a booger, just harvested, into my gaping maw.

Subtext:
The squeaky wheel gets pounded with a hammer, over and over and over again.

Chapter 1: Page 10: Line 58

 I hastened in to Leadenhall Street to inquire.

* * * * * * * * * *

Line 58 Vulgarized:
I rushed off to complain about my passage. Somebody must have misheard my request! It was probably a bureaucratic error! I was sure I could find somebody reasonable to speak with so as to ensure my passage on a wild and exciting East India Princess Cruise.

Subtext:
Cherrycoke is still young and doesn't quite understand the way the world works, even though the world's boot is currently firmly planted on his throat.

Chapter 1: Page 10: Line 57

 Tho' my Inclination had been to go out aboard an East Indiaman (the Revᵈ continues), as that route East travers'd notoriously a lively and youthful World of shipboard Dalliance, Gale-force Assemblies, and Duels ashore, with the French Fleet a constant,— for some, Romantic,— danger, "Like Pirates, yet more polite," as the Ladies often assur'd me,— alas, those who controll'd my Fate, getting wind of my preference at the last moment, swiftly arrang'd to have me transferr'd into a small British Frigate sailing alone, upon a long voyage, in a time of War,— the Seahorse, twenty-four guns, Captain Smith.

* * * * * * * * * *

Line 57 Vulgarized:
Though I would have liked to travel to the east aboard an East India company ship, being that that route was way more exciting with the most robust and energetic shipmates, sailing through countries most likely to lead to romantic encounters and chivalrous duels, and always the exciting prospect of a ship-to-ship encounter with the French ("Like pirates but they ask consent," swooned all the ladies), the powers that be learned of my desires and punitively chose the opposite: a lonesome British frigate set upon a long and boring voyage, likely to be sunk at sea, with a boring name—the Seahorse—and a boring captain with one wooden leg named Smith.

Subtext:
People in positions of authority are never content with maintaining order. They feed off of punitive punishments, especially to those unwilling to submit to their authority. The worst thing a person can do to a person who believes themselves the authority in the room is undermine that authority. Just look at the way police in America feel they have free rein to murder anybody who doesn't respect their authority (or possibly just anybody of a race whom the police have determined, as a whole, doesn't respect police authority). They aren't about policing or preventing crime. They're out their punishing the people they believe should be punished. They think the badge gives them the authority to be judge, jury, and executioner. They all think they're Judge Dredd and the Punisher and The Batman. They really think their job is to punish people who don't respect their authority. And yet there are still people in America who are arguing over the slogan "Defund the police." As if a slogan is murdering people in the street with no oversight.
    In this passage, we see how Reverend Cherrycoke doesn't have any right to his desires once he's deemed a criminal and a madman. Worse, They purposefully choose to do the opposite of what he wants. It's cruelty for cruelty's sake. It's making a statement: we can abuse you as much as we want and if you try to go against us or reveal our sins, we will abuse you even more. They think the threat of abuse is real power. Maybe some day, somebody somewhere will realize the actual power of kindness and compassion.
    On a lighter note, I really think the subtext of the name of the ship and the name of the captain is that Cherrycoke is supposed to be sent on a boring ship. Part of his punishment is to deny him adventure. You know, like how your parents complain whenever they discover prisoners have access to cable television and reading material. "What?! It's like they're living in luxury! And we're paying for it!"

Chapter 1: Page 10: Line 52-56

 "Ludgate, then? whichever, 'twas Gaol. It took me till I was lying among the Rats and Vermin, upon the freezing edge of a Future invisible, to understand that my name had never been my own,— rather belonging, all this time, to the Authorities, who forbade me to change it, or withhold it, as 'twere a Ring upon the Collar of a Beast, ever waiting for the Lead to be fasten'd on....  One of those moments Hindoos and Chinamen are ever said to be having, entire loss of Self, perfect union with All, sort of thing. Strange Lights, Fires, Voices indecipherable,— indeed, Children, this is the part of the Tale where your old Uncle gets to go insane,— or so, then, each in his Interest, did it please ev'ryone to style me. Sea voyages in those days being the standard Treatment for Insanity, my Exile should commence for the best of Medical reasons."

* * * * * * * * * *

Lines 52-56 Vulgarized:
"Maybe not the Tower of London. Possibly Ludgate. Whatever it was, it was jail. It wasn't until I was at my lowest, lying among the filthy beasts, my future completely erased now and unknowable, that I understood what a name meant. It wasn't something for me at all. It wasn't my identity or some affectation of my person and personality. No, it was a label so They could identify me. It was itself a prison, a shackle, a leash to keep me at bay or moving in the proper direction or, ultimately, in Their control. One of those moments of pure ego loss, only hinted at by stories from the East, near enlightenment where I felt one with the universe and with a pure ability to understand all. I could see strange lights, phantom fires, and heard voices in many languages and strange tongues. Yes, kind Brae and you creeps, your Uncle went insane in jail. At least, that's what everybody else decided. And since I was now a disgrace to Father and apparently beyond all rational thought, I was sent across the sea, being that sea voyages were a cure for insanity. Or at least that's what the same people who said I was crazy believed. More probably they just wanted all the loons in Australia and America."

Subtext:
While in jail, Reverend Cherrycoke seems to have ingested ergot, either from the dirty conditions or having been fed some moldy bread. Because if this isn't an acid trip then it must not have been me doing all of that acid in my late teens and early twenties. In fact, I had the exact loss of ego one time when I took too many mushrooms. I wound up in the parking lot of a strip club in San Jose (mainly because the DJ inside knew my friend Paul and kept referencing him, calling him "Punky Boy," which caused everybody in the club to look at our table and the paranoia it was building inside me was too much to bear. So I told Paul, "I've got to get out of here." And he said, "Why? Are you going to cut somebody's head off?" Which he said way too excitedly). While in the parking lot, I began to believe that the person I was . . . the person who had just graduated college and was going to go cross country in his VW bus after which was going to visit several countries in Asia . . . was a figment of my imagination whom I had made up to make my life as a vagrant palatable. I resolved myself to this sudden realization that I was only now seeing reality and that all of my plans, and my recent past, had been hallucinations and I was just waking up into the real world. I wasn't even sure of my name which, according to Cherrycoke, was probably me finally finding freedom. Eventually I saw my friends walking toward me from the club and the hallucination dissipated.
    Cherrycoke's "trip" while in jail isn't "being Hanged." So which is it? Was he nearly hanged which sent him on his mission to whistleblow everybody in town? Or, like his easy change of the story from the Tower to Ludgate, is his story malleable? Whatever the case, this ergot trip is much like his death and resurrection. In the first, Cherrycoke leaves behind his old body to rise a new man. In this case, he realizes his name is a choke chain for Them and leaves it behind. Was "Cherrycoke" his real name? Earlier, he refers to his father as "Grandsire Cherrycoke," but that could simply be so the Twins don't get confused. I mean, Cherrycoke is a weird name for 1786, right?!
    I obviously don't think Cherrycoke went insane (see my ergot theory as evidence) and neither does Cherrycoke, as he states "did it please ev'ryone to style me" insane. He simply believes he had a spiritual experience because he doesn't know what ergot is. And he welcomes the change of continent as it is symbolic of his loss of identity and his shedding of the name They own.

Chapter 1: Page 10: Line 51

 "Oh, do not tease them so," Tenebræ prays him.

* * * * * * * * * *

Line 51 Vulgarized:
"Please don't get up their blood lust, Uncle. We've only just convinced the neighbors that their dog probably drowned in the river," pleaded Tenebrae.

Subtext:
Everybody knows the Twins are psychopaths. Except maybe Cherrycoke, being fairly new to the household. He probably just thinks they're creepy boys being creepy boys. But they totally are not. They are monsters.

Chapter 1: Page 9: Line 50

 "The Tower!"

* * * * * * * * * *

Line 50 Vulgarized:
"The Tower of London!" was the non-attributed response to Cherrycoke but almost certainly screamed, in unison, by the two young serial killers who look exactly alike.

Subtext:
The subtext probably has something to do with the meaning of The Tower in a deck of Tarot cards but who has time to learn about Tarot cards? I suppose I could walk down to Hawthorne Boulevard and talk to one of the psychics entertaining people with their hoodoo but they'd probably charge me twenty dollars. If I didn't research the Tarot while reading Gravity's Rainbow, why would I research it now?! It was explicit in Gravity's Rainbow (I think? Maybe more possibly explicit?!). In this book, it's just some nasty kids screaming "The Tower!", excited by the possibility of all the gruesome tortures within that might now be described in the story.
    The last time I did any real research on Tarot cards was when I was playing Wizardy III: The Legacy of Llylgamyn in junior high. One of the riddles in the dungeon relied on the player knowing Tarot cards which was stupid because wasn't Wizardry taking place in a fantasy world with no real relation to our own?! Stupid breaking the fourth wall riddle. And just to be clear when I say I researched it: I had to go to the fucking library! There was no Internet back then!

Okay fine. I looked up the meaning of The Tower: "The Tower is commonly interpreted as meaning danger, crisis, destruction, and liberation. It is associated with sudden unforeseen change." Liberation! That's what happened to Cherrycoke! Also danger since he was supposedly hanged. And destruction because it was to the death. Also unforeseen change because his life took a dramatic turn from posting Whistleblower flyers all over the countryside to exploring the wilds of America with a group of crazy characters.

Chapter 1: Page 9: Lines 47-49

 "Along with some lesser Counts," the Revᵈ is replying, "'twas one of the least tolerable of Offenses in that era, the worst of Dick Turpin seeming but the Carelessness of Youth beside it,— the Crime they styl'd 'Anonymity.' That is, I left messages posted publicly, but did not sign them. I knew some night-running lads in the district who let me use their Printing-Press,— somehow, what I got into printing up, were Accounts of certain Crimes I had observ'd, committed by the Stronger against the Weaker,— enclosures, evictions, Assize verdicts, Activities of the Military,— giving the Names of as many of the Perpetrators as I was sure of, yet keeping back what I foolishly imagin'd my own, till the Night I was tipp'd and brought in to London, in Chains, and clapp'd in the Tower."

* * * * * * * * * *

Lines 47-49 Vulgarized:
"I was a whistleblower by way of being a slap tagging Zorro. Apparently calling out crimes by authority figures was seen as a worse crime than Dick Turpin's exploits as a horse thief and a highwayman. I posted printed accounts and the names of everybody I was sure had committed a crime but kept back my name as accuser, thinking, it being my name, nobody needed knowledge of it. But then one night I was caught, arrested, and thrown in the Tower of London for my crime."

Subtext:
It's interesting Cherrycoke drops the name "Dick Turpin" as his description of his near hanging is very nearly an account of Turpin's execution including the cadaver snatching (but minus the resurrection). I knew who Dick Turpin was thanks to Jack Whitehall's character in Good Omens naming his car Dick Turpin for some dumb joke. But I hadn't read the account of his execution because that's not the sort of information for which I normally plumb the Internet. I used to really enjoy the insane humor of edgelord sites that didn't give a shit who they offended, like Encyclopedia Dramatica, but then while rabbit-holing link after link on the site, I wound up on an entry (possibly for suicide) that had a gif of a man shooting himself in the mouth with a small caliber pistol (apparently Björk related, if I remember correctly). It wasn't graphic being that it was a small caliber, not strong enough, I suppose, to exit the skull. But it depicted his death and it was a gif and it kept replaying and I could not tear my eyes away, even as every ounce of whatever it is that makes a person human drained out of my being, leaving me a husk of who I had been. I can still see the life leaving him, repeated over and over and over, an infinite loop of his final moment caught forever in 1s and 0s. He will haunt me, this bald man, until the day I die.
    The real subtext is that people in power can commit whatever crimes they want without any repercussions. But it's a crime to call them out on their crimes, of course. Reading about Dick Turpin's crimes on his Wikipedia page reinforces this idea that those with money and power could do whatever they wanted but poor people received the brunt of law enforcement (nothing's changed, right?). Here's a quote from the article: "During the 17th and 18th centuries, crimes in violation of property rights were some of the most severely punished; most of the 200 capital statutes were property offences." Because of course they were! To remain in power, the rich and powerful keep as many people in poverty as possible, knowing that people in poverty will become desperate when their survival is at stake. And so you make as many laws as possible protecting your stuff from desperate poor people while not giving any shits about making society better and raising people out of poverty in an actual effort to lower the amount of property crimes.
    At least we know that Cherrycoke's crimes were of the Robin Hood variety, intended to bend reality toward actual justice. Which means Cherrycoke's father's denial of him is an even worse statement on Cherrycoke's father than before. He's simply embarrassed his son rocked the status quo.

Chapter 1: Page 9: Line 46

 Green Brief-bag over one shoulder, but lately return'd from a Coffee-House Meeting, he is bound later this evening for a slightly more formal version of the same thing,— feeling, here with the children, much as might a Coaching Passenger let off at Nightfall among an unknown Populace, to wait for a connecting Coach, alone, pedestrian, desiring to pass the time to some Revenue, if not Profit.

* * * * * * * * * *

Line 46 Vulgarized:
Uncle Ives just got back from meeting with a potential client at a local coffee house and is hanging around the LeSpark house for a bit before he has to rush off to a meeting with a paying client. Not knowing exactly what to do with himself in this children's back room during Uncle Cherrycoke's Story Time, he interrupts to see if maybe Cherrycoke needs a lawyer.

Subtext:
The foundation for my entire interpretation of Line 46 rests on the phrase "green Brief-bag over one shoulder" and that this is taking place in 1786. If his were taking place in 2012, I'd simply assume the "Brief-bag" was a ubiquitous messenger bag used to hold the laptop and other writing materials of 95% of the people at the local coffee shop and that Uncle Ives was a slacker and/or writer and/or hipster rather than a lawyer. I'm also assuming the first meeting was with a potential client because it wasn't particularly formal while the later meeting must be with a paying client which is really the only reason to suggest it's "a slightly more formal version."
    I understand that I'm not even allowing for the possibility that he's a gigolo even if that's an interpretation that's entirely possible being that maybe Uncle Ives was on a personal date and later he'll be on a paid date and during that time, he's really uncomfortable hanging around kids where he obviously can't perform any tricks for some extra cash.
    No, you know what? I am allowing for that possibility! In fact, I'm hoping that's the actual case!
    At the very least, Pynchon might be comparing lawyers to prostitutes. I think that was an okay insult to make back in 1997. But now they're sex workers and we understand, especially with all of the online possibilities, how much agency they have in their own life and how sex work is no different from any other kind of employment. Probably better because, with much of it online, a sex worker can easily be their own boss. Which automatically makes the job better than any non-sex work job where you have to listen to some asshole boss.

Chapter 1: Page 9: Line 45

 "What'd they nail you on?" Uncle Ives wishes to know, "strictly professional interest, of course."

* * * * * * * * * *

Line 45 Vulgarized:
"Of what crime were you accused?" asks new character Uncle Ives who works in law to some degree (or is a remittance man of his own), probably a lawyer since 65% of men in the 1700s were lawyers.

Subtext:
"Who is Uncle Ives?" everybody who read Atlas Shrugged is now thinking in the way they were taught to consider characters. I've never read Atlas Shrugged but I probably should because I've only got an infinite life span and what better way to eat away at that ever decreasing supply than to read a shit novel by a shit author about shit ideas? See, I do need to read it because that statement would sound more authoritative if I'd actually read it! The thing is, I know people who have read it and enjoyed it and I didn't like them very much before I learned they like Ayn Rand novels.
    Uncle Ives states he's professionally curious about Cherrycoke's crimes because he doesn't want people to think he's into lurid and sensational stories about true crime. He's a gentleman who wants to be perceived as respectable, after all!
    Whose uncle is he? If he were Cherrycoke's uncle, thus his father's brother, you'd expect him to know the dirty details. If he's the Twins' uncle, he's Cherrycoke's brother (or brother-in-law) and you'd expect the same. He's probably some lonely old guy who lives down the block and heard there were free stories and treats every night at the LeSpark place. That's my guess because I can't wait to be that old man.

Chapter 1: Page 9: Line 44

 "Why, so did wicked men declare 'em...before God, another Tale...."

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Line 44 Vulgarized:
"Well, 'crimes' is what some terribly depraved and monstrous men claimed they were. But that's another story, by God," Cherrycoke responded lost in melancholy thought about the unjustness of it all.

Subtext:
Reverend Cherrycoke was the victim of a plot by wicked men to besmirch his and his family's reputation, according to, of course, Cherrycoke. He could be lying to explain away his sins. Or, remembering this is Pynchon's work, he could simply be paranoid in his belief that some wicked Them were behind the so-called crimes of his youth which led to his banishment from Britain. Just like Slothrop (and his family hundreds of years before) were banished from Britain. I mean, Slothrop wasn't technically banished. But he was manipulated by Them onto the continent from which he never was able to return, possibly becoming some wild harmonica playing woodland creature of the night, a man turned myth or urban legend, either a testament to the pursuit of enlightenment or a cautionary tale.
    If Cherrycoke weren't just an amateur Scheherazade, he'd tell the tale of his youthful crimes right now before he's even begun the story that begins with a hanging. Pro-storyteller Scheherazade could have fit four or five rather dull stories into the opening paragraph of another story. Yes, I said dull stories. I swear, if I had been her husband, Shahryār, the book would have been called The Book of the Twelve Nights and a Night. At times, Scheherazade really picks some rather dull cliffhangers.
    This really is sounding a lot like Lew Basnight from Against the Day as well as some Slothropian paranoia. Lew committed some unredeemable sin that he can't remember and nobody will explain to him. Cherrycoke has committed some unredeemable sin that might not have actually been a sin at all but won't explain it to his audience. I mean, he might! I haven't read (at least in over twenty years) any of the thousands of sentences after this one yet!
    

Chapter 1: Page 9: Line 43

 "Crimes!" exclaim the Boys together.

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Line 43 Vulgarized:
"We have definitely set at least one house ablaze in Philadelphia and have no doubt a stash of the neighbors' dead pets in a small grove some dozen feet behind the house!" confess the creepy ass Twins.

Subtext:
The boys might not seem any different than any other boys in any other era. They express a love of action and violence and crimes and sweet pastries. They are yet to reach an age where they realize they must bury their toxic masculinity deep down and let nobody see or hear the awful, terrible person inside of them. For the sake of the common good, they will learn to keep thoughts like "I wonder how tight she is" and "Sucking my own dick probably isn't gay as long as I don't swallow" to themselves. They will resent society around them for judging them when they try to express their most nihilistic and inappropriate base tendencies. Eventually, becoming more and more aggrieved and horny and violent, they will form a local club, maybe calling it 1chan, where they can be as debauched as they like without fear of judgment. In fact, they will gain reputation and status for being the most unsocial, the most vile, the most disgusting person in the club. They will leak to the general public that they should be called "edgelords" because, they will think, "That's a fucking bad-ass name, right?! Is that supposed to be an insult? Do better, you vanilla sheep!"
    Unless my take was supposed to be, "Girls like crime too!" So this is sexist. Probably. Anyway, I think we can all agree that the Twins are serial killers.

Chapter 1: Page 9: Line 41-42

 "Your Grandsire Cherrycoke, Lads, has ever kept his promise to remit to me, by way of certain Charter'd Companies, a sum precise to the farthing and punctual as the Moon,— to any address in the World, save one in Britain. Britain is his World, and he will persist, even now, in standing sham'd before it for certain Crimes of my distant Youth."

* * * * * * * * * *

Lines 41-42 Vulgarized:
"Yes, you're right, you little creeps. I am a Remittance Man. I did a thing as bad as failing to make an elephant lamp that lights when you pull the trunk causing me to lose my A average and am now an embarrassment to your father which makes him an embarrassment to all of Britain. So I get free money every month if I'm outside of Britain and he gets to pretend I don't exist. It's a good deal because who would want to associate with a prick like that anyway? I'd stay away from him for free."

Subtext:
I know this section is called "Subtext" and I know I often just discuss the "Right-there-on-the-surface-text." I know! I just wanted you to know I know and that I don't care, especially when most people have such poor reading comprehension that the superficial meaning of a line becomes too difficult to explicate. I mean, have you seen Twitter? Most responses to a person's tweet sound like somebody replied to the wrong tweet because you read it and think, "How does that have anything to do with this?!" Then you slam your hand in the closet door four or five times just to feel something other than the constant low level buzz of irritation that has become our daily lives. Sometimes I even do subtext in the vulgarized section which is the section that's supposed to deal with the text's literal meaning. I'm just wacky like that! One time, I walked through China's Forbidden City waving my arms around in a mildly strange way and said, "Look at me! What do you think they're all thinking? Crazy American!"
    I didn't actually do that. Some old New Yorker said that to his old wife while we walked through the Forbidden City. They were a tough couple to be around but that stupid moment in their lives made me love them forever.
    So the text and/or subtext (I really can't be bothered to differentiate at this point. I'm not an academic and I don't have an advisor tutting my word and style choices) is that Reverend Cherrycoke was a rebellious lad who committed some atrocious crime. Except it's 18th century Britain so that could mean he was a normal kid who did something so mundane, Seinfeld couldn't have created an episode surrounding the event. Whatever he did (will we find out or is this another thing Pynchon loves to do? Let the reader know a character has committed some grave sin but then never let the reader know what that sin was? Like Lew Basnight in Against the Day (which I haven't finished. So maybe at some point we learn what Lew's crime was? (It was sodomy. It has to be sodomy. His name is Lube Ass Night!))).
    As a parent, how do you entangle your reputation with your child's reputation to such a degree that you can't even have the child live in the same country as you when they sully theirs? What a miserable person Grandsire Cherrycoke must be! If my kid did something terrible, I would just say, "What a horrible individual with their own agency and free will which has nothing at all to do with me! I contributed one tiny sperm to that monster! Why are you punishing me now for his egregious sins?! You don't think, now, at this moment, hindsight being what it is, that I wouldn't have drowned him in a barrel if I'd known?!"

Chapter 1: Page 9: Line 40

 "They pay you money to keep away," says Pliny.

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Line 40 Vulgarized:
"You are a remittance man," says Pitt.

Subtext:
I'm not sure if the term "remittance man" existed before the Victorian era but it doesn't matter because Pitt or Pliny didn't use the term. But he used the definition and it wouldn't surprise me if paying a relation a sum of money to remain abroad was as old as the first British colony. Maybe as old as the second colony since the first colony was probably a bunch of volunteer trouble makers who had nothing going on for them in the Motherland. But then the second colony, the black sheep of families probably realized how lucrative they could make getting out of their family's hair and began using it as a scam. The practice probably became quite common so that families quickly suggested it to family members embarrassing the family reputation.
    Here, Pitt and Pliny suggest that Cherrycoke was such a failure and embarrassment to the family in Great Britain that he was paid to go abroad. In other words, did Cherrycoke have a natural inclination for exploration and travel or did he just have a natural inclination towards crime and easy money?
    I now suspect that Cherrycoke's confession to being a Reverend in name and actor's tricks only was truthful all the way back to his youth. He was probably nearly hanged due to his impersonation of a churchman. His revelation upon revival was that he needed to impersonate a reverend in less passionately religious company. And his family, shamed by his fraud being caught out, began paying him to remain abroad.
    When he first met Mason and Dixon, did he intend to simply scam them and live off their fame and grants? But then he generally grew to love them, and consider them his friends? I'd probably know the answer to these questions if I could remember much of this book which I read over twenty years ago! Hopefully I'll pay more attention this time.

Chapter 1: Page 9: Line 39

 "Mother says you're the Family outcast," Pitt remarks.

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Line 39 Vulgarized:
"Mom says you're a failure and the black sheep," says Pliny because his mom isn't close enough to smack his mouth shut.

Subtext:
Cherrycoke is telling a story about himself in front of family which means they know more about him than his usual audience. They're apt to call out any lies or embellishments. Also, they apparently don't mind simply insulting him and selling out his sister as a mean-spirited gossip.
    How trustworthy is Pitt and his mother is probably a good question to ask! Who knows what grievances Cherrycoke's sister has against him. Maybe she's just jealous of his adventurous nature and would rather see him as having been banished from their family home? Or maybe her remark was just some joking line to her husband which Pitt overheard? Whatever the case, it's obvious Cherrycoke was an outcast. But was he driven away by hurt and angry family or was it his own nature that drove him on his merry way?
    I, for one, won't trust one word that comes out of either creepy twin's mouth. My body just shuddered in physical disgust! Twins are monsters (especially these two, although that's a pretty thin "especially" considering how monstrous twins are).

Chapter 1: Pages 8-9: Line 38

 "Had I been the first churchman of modern times to be swung from Tyburn Tree,— had I been then taken for dead, whilst in fact but spending an Intermission among the eventless corridors of Syncope, due to the final Bowl of Ale,— had a riotous throng of medical students taken what they deem'd to be my Cadaver back beneath the somber groins of their College,— had I then been 'resurrected' into an entirely new Knowledge of the terms of being, in which Our Savior,— strange to say in that era of Wesley and Whitefield,— though present, would not have figur'd as pre-eminently as with most Sectarians,— howbeit,— I should closely resemble the nomadic Parson you behold today...."

* * * * * * * * * *

Line 37 Vulgarized:
"I'm not saying I was the first parson to be hanged from the gallows in this 18th century after which everybody thought I was dead but I was simply dead drunk and then a bunch of medical students, needing cadavers for their studies, hauled my unconscious form back to the dark basements of their college and thusly 'brought me back to life' believing less in Christ than I had, about as much as most non-religious . . . I'm not saying all of that happened at all! But if it did happen some forty years ago (based on my "time of Wesley and Whitefield comment," for those of you paying attention), there would be little difference between the man you see now and that man I just described. WINK."

Subtext:
First Cherrycoke tells us his very life seems to hinge on how well the stories keep the children entertained, placing him in the role of Scheherazade and the Twins in the role of Shahryār, and thus suggesting the stories are embellished and events hyperbolic. Then he admits that his memory is faulty and he's a total fraud meaning none of his stories can be trusted. Now he begins his story with "Had all of this actually happened to me, I'd be no different than the person you see now. So it probably happened to me. But I won't confirm it, exactly. I'll just let you think it. So it probably didn't happen exactly like this at all. I probably just lost faith while passed out in a mud puddle, some medical student rolled me over thinking I'd sell for a few shilling, heard me burp and fart my way back to consciousness, and left me to wake up thinking, "Fucking Christ. If I'm saved, I guess I'm saved. If not, I'm not. May as well just make the most out of this life!"
    The mention of Wesley and Whitefield, the founders of the Methodist church who split over the concept of predestination, probably means more than the passing mention makes it seem (especially since Pynchon seems fascinated by the Preterite in Gravity's Rainbow). First, it gives us a fairly good guess at Cherrycoke's age in 1786. He was probably a young man, say in his twenties, when this story of his begins. Whitefield joins Wesley's little Holy Club at Oxford at the beginning of the 1730s. By 1739, Wesley preaches against predestination and the rift begins. So I'd guess Cherrycoke is referencing the time when they were rising to fame and debating about grace and preterition, the 1740s. Which means Cherrycoke is probably in his mid-sixties, possibly early seventies. He's definitely the old man he painted himself to be. By contrast, Mason died age 58 earlier in the year and Jeremiah Dixon died age 45 seven years earlier. 
    Bringing up the subject of predestination as a practical aside maybe makes sense in understanding Cherrycoke and his motivations. He confesses to being a "churchman" in his youth but, earlier, confessed to basically living as a fraud. He also points out how, at this moment in his life, Jesus became less important to how he was going to live it. I feel like he's kept his love of Christ and religion but, due to ideas like predestination, finds spiritual matters far less important than earthly matters. He would rather have a large coffee and a dozen sweet treats while telling a raucous tale of adventure to a room full of listeners than preach. He does profess to choose his tales based on their moral quality but that probably has far less to do with preaching and more to do with his young audience.
    Ultimately, did somebody attempt to hang Cherrycoke or is this just his interpretation of his general loss of faith? Maybe it'll be clarified later, maybe it should remain exactly as Cherrycoke tells it: ambiguous for reasons he keeps to himself. I like to think it's just a metaphorical death and resurrection as of Christ, denoting a significant change in the man he was and the man he became (while also comparing himself to a reverse Christ: Cherrycoke died to become more earthly).

Chapter 1: Page 8: Line 37

 The Revᵈ, producing a scarr'd old Note-book, cover'd in cheap Leather, begins to read.

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Line 36 Vulgarized:
The Reverend makes a show of pulling out his well-loved Moleskin, opens it, glances studiously across the pages, licks a finger, turns a page, scans the text, makes an exaggerated expression of delighted discovery, a big smile and a large nod of his head, as he finds the beginning of the story and starts to read it aloud to his audience.

Subext:
The Reverend is a hipster. He carries around a leather notebook, beaten up just enough to show how well used it is (which means it's full of wise wisdom and experienced experiences) and has an obsession with coffee. He also loves to discover new places with Mason (his emo friend) and Dixon (his jovial pal).
    Cherrycoke also begins to read the story from out of a book which has a different connotation than improvising it. These are white Europeans who have no true sense of oral history so reading a history out of a book seems more authoritative. There's a sense that memory shifts and recollections blur. But text must have been written closer to the source of the material and isn't prone to changing across time (I know, I know! Text absolutely changes due to the interpretation of the reader's and society's values and morays). It has a greater sense of truth about it. Although that truth is about to be tested to its limits as soon as that Goddamned dog shows up yapping his philosophical face off. Or that mechanical duck gains sentience and falls in love with a chef.

Chapter 1: Page 8: Line 36

 "Excellent!" cry the Twins.

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Line 35 Vulgarized:
"We love violence and gore!" exclaim the creeps whom nobody can tell apart.

Subtext:
The twins have a stash of dead animals in the cellar.

Chapter 1: Page 8: Line 35

 "It begins with a Hanging."

* * * * * * * * * *

Line 35 Vulgarized:
"This story starts with a from of capital punishment that has different connotations in 1997 than in 1786, especially to an audience reading a book named after a line whose main reason of fame became its status as the boundary between free and slave states."

Subtext:
I believe I mentioned the subtext in the "Vulgarized" section so I've got some free time to discuss the dialogue that just happened between Cherrycoke and his niece, Tenebrae. I'm just going to come right out and say it: I totally didn't understand it. Their replies confused me. It was as if I were reading Ann Nocenti dialogue from her run on The New 52 Green Arrow where two characters were seemingly having a dialogue but neither one seemed to be truly responding to the other.
    Tenebrae makes a sarcastic comment about her uncle's age, him playing it up while she remarks how he seemed much younger earlier in the day. Was he telling a story earlier in the day that made him seem younger? Or is he not actually as old and tired as his description of himself indicates?
    I think maybe it's somewhere in-between. His response is to tell Tenebrae that his description of himself as old and exhausted and nearly demented was from a "Secret Relation," which I take to mean a story he has kept to himself up until then (the story about to be told maybe?). And he says he would have described himself differently in front of his current audience. I suspect what he's driving at is that this story has already been written and he's merely reciting it exactly without regard to the audience.
    Tenebrae then asks him, "Then. . . ?" That's it. It seems she's asking, "So how would you have described yourself to this audience?" That all seems like a rational interpretation until I get to this line where Cherrycoke simply answers the "Then . . . ?" with "It begins with a Hanging." What?!
    My best guess is that he's saying, "This story begins darkly and thus I needed to prepare the audience for darkness. So I wanted to preface it with my outlook or my poor memory or . . . or . . . I don't know!
    Speaking of comic books, Keith Giffen writes dialogue quite a bit like this. Where the two characters are saying things that seem almost parallel to what the other person is saying and neither half of the conversation ever intersects. Differently from Nocenti though! Her dialogue is insane. Giffen's usually makes sense after reading it through a few times. But it always makes me think, "How are these people following along with their own conversation?! It's making me dizzy!" And that's what this conversation between Brae and Cherrycoke does to me. I almost feel like I can follow what they're saying but, ultimately, I have to just shrug and think, "Maybe I got it? I guess?" Then I just have to move on like the Twins are about to, simply happy to hear an exciting story about a hanging.

A New Interpretation (due to a conversation with Doom Bunny):
Tenebrae ran into her uncle in the morning. He was acting lively and upbeat. Tenebrae was all, "Oh my. Look how youthful you looked this morning!" And Cherrycoke was all, "There's this lady I've been fucking. I mean, I should say it in a PG-13 way due to the Twins: I'm having a secret relation!" And Tenebrae Greased, "Oh? Tell me more, tell me more!" And Cherrycoke was all, "It begins with a Hanging," which means he's telling a story beginning forty years ago simply to reveal who he's now sleeping with.

Chapter 1: Page 8: Line 34

"Then...?" Tenebræ replying to her Uncle's Twinkling with the usual play of Eye-lashes.

* * * * * * * * * *

Line 34 Vulgarized:
"Then how would you phrase it?" flirted his niece flirtily back at her flirting Uncle and making me wonder if my naivete caused me to miss the real meaning of that earlier phrase "Secret Relations." 

Subtext:
Cherrycoke is not telling his story free from critics or editors. His audience has ample opportunity to interrupt or question him or accuse him of untruths as he tells the story. And I suspect he'll have to change details on the fly, or make up new excuses if called out on brazen descriptions of events. Here, the first (unless the Twins were first?) critic of his story is Tenebrae who seemingly has the power to cajole more out of her uncle than maybe he was first willing to give. He's putty in her hands, it seems.

 

Chapter 1: Page 8: Lines 31-33

 "Kindly Brae. That is from my Secret Relation, of course. Don't know that I'd phrase it quite like that in the present company."

* * * * * * * * * *

Lines 31-33 Vulgarized:
"Okay, Brae, you smart ass. That description of myself was from my less public accounts of this story. I should probably have cheered it up a bit for this group."

Subtext:
The main subtext is I'm not sure I interpreted this response correctly! I'll get lost in dialogue responses a lot because it seems most people don't talk to each other in books the way they talk to each other in reality. It's like how people on television shows often hang up the phone without indicating the conversation is over. Somehow both parties just know they're done talking? When has that ever happened without one person sitting on the phone going, "Hello? Um, hello? What the fuck, dude?!"
    But I think the main point of these lines—regardless of my interpretation of the first two lines—is that the Reverend admits that he takes the audience into consideration when telling his story. So he edits and embellishes based on what he thinks the audience is expecting, or what they might be too young to hear, or, well, any number of reasons, I suppose. Here Cherrycoke admits that the story he is going to tell will be edited to some degree because of the audience before him. It's like renting an R-rated movie from Blockbuster. You might not be getting the actual theatrical experience because those guys were total prudes!

Chapter 1: Page 8: Line 30

 "Uncle," Tenebræ pretends to gasp, "— and but this Morning, you look'd so much younger,— why I'd no idea."

* * * * * * * * * *

Line 30 Vulgarized:
"You don't have to tell us you're old, Uncle. We have eyes," sassed youth personified.

Subtext:
One morning you're young, the next morning you're old. It sucks.
    Here's the difference between young and old: old people know the pain of having been young while young people think they're going to be young forever and don't give a shit about the pain of growing old and losing your youth.
    Young people are just old people who have yet to realize that they’ve wasted their best years.

Chapter 1: Page 8: Line 29

 "After years wasted," the Revᵈ commences, "at perfecting a parsonical Disguise,— grown old in the service of an Impersonation that never took more than a Handful of actor's tricks,— past remembering those Yearnings of Danger, past all that ought to have been, but never had a Hope of becoming, have I beach'd upon these Republican Shores,— stoven, dismasted, imbécile with age,— an untrustworthy Remembrancer for whom the few events yet rattling within a broken memory must provide the only comfort now remaining to him,—"

* * * * * * * * * *

Line 29 Vulgarized:
"After a lifetime of easily pretending (so easy!) to be a Reverend—years one might consider to have been wasted because I was pretending to be something I wasn't—long after all my youthful years looking for adventure, long past all those things I could have, or should have, done with my life but never would have, seeing as how I'm here never having done them meaning they never could have been done anyway, time working the way it does, going only the one way so that Hope and Dreams literally die due to its relentless passage, I have come to finally rest here in America. A castaway, his ship smashed on the shores, the mast destroyed to stop all forward momentum, become stupid and forgetful with age. An old man whose memory cannot be trusted but who only has those memories left to sustain him."

Subtext:
Take the Reverend's stories with a grain of salt. Not only has he lied his whole life about being a Reverend but now he's old and forgetful and sad. His stories won't just be fanciful and embellished because they need to be exciting so he doesn't lose the roof over his head; his stories might just be fanciful and embellished because he can't remember what actually happened anymore, or has become senile enough to believe the things he says actually happened.
    From Cherrycoke's point of view, he speaks from the future about his past, a past full of hope and possibility, both of which were killed by the passage of time. The modern reader, reading about America in 1786 from America in 1997, might see a parallel here about the history of America, once full of hope and possibility, brimming with the brightest future for all Americans, but now cemented in time over the last two hundred plus messy years. But Cherrycoke isn't looking forward (just as Pynchon and the reader are currently not looking forward). Mired in the past, he disregards what is more important. While visiting Mason's grave and telling stories from his past, America is being born around him. He could be celebrating the possibilities of progressive changes via the Constitution soon to be written but chooses to turn his back to it. Why not, I suppose? He's an old man. What concern is the future for him?
    The greatest part of youth is the expanse of possibilities set out before you. But every year, more and more possibilities close off due to life and time's forward momentum. This is both good and bad. It's good because if paths aren't closing, you aren't progressing as a person. You're in stasis. But it's bad because the more paths cut off, the more constricted a person can feel which leads to longer and longer nostalgic trips to the past when things seemed more wondrous and free. Reverend Cherrycoke's life and his stories are a microcosm of the way history works. It's why old people constantly screw younger generations by the way they vote. Because they only think about how great the past was and are blind to what the future needs to be. But nostalgia also blinds them to how the past wasn't great at all, it's just, on a personal level (read selfish level), that their past was wide open and full of hope therefore it must have been better. They won't experience much of the future so they simply think the world should be like it was when they were young.