book review

Greil Marcus - The Shape of Things to Come - Prophecy and the American Voice

Greil Marcus seems to be waging an internal war and then displaying it on his own canvas. But he is doing it in a sort of Jackson Pollack kind of way. The cohesiveness must be all there, we tell ourselves, and we can see it, somewhat, but it is fraught with conflict that when pieced together is giving a picture in total of a cynical heart; a jaded soul. The three narrative historical landmark speeches he is using as foundation for his painting are all hopeful yet simultaneously dire warnings; all inspirational and incendiary. But he seems to spend a great deal of his initial energy separating the zeal and hopefulness of the speeches from a swathe of reality that he places liberally on the canvas in grey or black tones, separating as in distancing, in order it seems to point out the inevitable failure of the Union, the very grey-blue notion of America as only an idea, and not realized.

I am supposing after the initial burst of cynicism and a generally negative spirit, because of the title, itself being prophetic in nature and presupposing an answer, that Mr. Marcus is going to somehow redeem his text with some sort of replacement, revision, or reenactment of historical events that will enlighten us as to how it should be, was really, or could have been. It is yet to be seen what direction his “answer” will be to these supposed “voids”, but because he has written a book I’m supposing he has one. Or will he? Please tell me that this will not be another one of those high-language intellectual thrillers that destroy the past and current American system and waylay all paths of possible return to a reasonable rescue under that system, and then leave us to our own devices as to a solution, or offer very little in the way of redemption. I’ve seen this before. A writer of no mean political and intellectual talent splatters their frustration over the canvas with abandon, and then leaves the painting dripping red and black and blue; no flowers, no pointers to signposts up ahead.

But then again, I’m only on page 39.