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51 pages 1 hour read

E. L. Doctorow

City of God

Fiction | Novel | Adult

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Pages 124-166Chapter Summaries & Analyses

Pages 124-139 Summary

Everett’s writing returns, briefly, to Wittgenstein, who wrote during his time in the trenches of World War I that his soul was “finally inviolable by circumstance” (126). Everett then begins a long, open-verse poem titled “Author’s Bio” that tells the story of his upbringing and his father’s service in World War I. In it, he says he was born to Ben and Ruth during the Great Depression, and that he has an older brother as well as another sibling who did not survive; he lays all of this out as a way to position himself as a person qualified to speak for the century. He is writing this from the perspective of the present, with his father dead for forty years and his mother more recently, and he is attempting to understand the mystery of them.

His father Ben served in the Navy during WWI, and during that time he is assigned to be a land observer in the trenches. He’s stationed with an Army signal unit, and when telegraph communications became impossible, they became runners, sending information back from the front lines to the commanders on foot. When the lieutenant is killed, Ben takes on the leadership role and eventually finds himself the last living member of his adopted unit. At this point, Everett recalls watching football games with his father much later, and relates his father’s passion for the game to an aestheticized version of war.

As the last runner, Ben brings the orders to retreat through the trenches, witnessing the awful horror of trench warfare. He pauses in a trench upon seeing a young soldier who has taken his own life and feels the overwhelming weight of the war. At that moment, a German tank crashes overhead. Everett pauses here to say that although the Great War is ancient history by modern standards, it’s linked to the bar he’s in: “All history has contrived to pour this beer into your glass […] and, not incidentally, lit us in this neon-blue light of illusory freedom” (135).

Though Ben is well aware that the Germans headed toward him are more like him than not, and he has an awareness of the way that history has caught them up and abused them, his thinking in that moment is of his family and his eventual wife. When the German soldiers come over the trench, endangering his life, he remembers enough Yiddish from his immigrant parents to impersonate an officer, yelling at the soldiers to keep moving, saving his own life. When the counterattack drives the Germans back, Ben joins in, and the poem closes by echoing Wittgenstein’s assertion.

Pages 139-150 Summary

The narrative becomes fragmented here as Everett moves through several ideas: lullabies as the first songs, containing both the joy of new life and the knowledge of mortality; Noah’s ark’s need for dung beetles; the Biblical desert of Moses and Jesus imagined as the actual wilderness it would have been rather than the symbolic place it represents in the Bible. He then returns to his narration of Sarah Blumenthal’s father, who spends several days locked in the pitch-black boxcar with the living and dead. He begins mindlessly gnawing at the piece of wood his face is pressed against, and he is able to breathe and occasionally have rain water through a slat in the boxcar. When the girl next to him dies without warning, he is dragged down a few inches, and he is suddenly able to see outside. He begins announcing what he sees to the people in the car, and he tries to recall who is in there with him. He knows the journey is reaching its end, and he realizes that they have all been fully stripped of their humanity.

The draft of the ghetto narrative finished, Everett meets Sarah for lunch. She has read his draft, and they are going to talk about it, but this is the first time Everett’s seen her without Tom around, and he sees Tom’s attraction. When he is wondering how she ended up in the rabbinate, she anticipates his question, and he makes a joke, saying he was about to ask her if she liked Frank Sinatra (who will come up later as another of Everett’s monologue subjects). Sarah reveals that she turned to learning Yiddish when her mother died, which led her incrementally to the rabbinate.

The conversation turns to the ghetto narrative, and Sarah says it was moving, though it was full of simplifications and inaccuracies that she couldn’t help but notice. She says that it feels true, though, and speaks of her father, who now suffers from dementia, which she sees as a blessing: He never learned of Joshua’s murder while he was trying to recover the lost ghetto archive, which is something Sarah’s father didn’t ask for and could not bear to do himself. She reveals that Tom has taken it upon himself to seek out the archive; he has written her from Moscow to tell her as much.

Everett thinks of his friend, who was so changed by his stolen cross appearing on Joshua and Sarah’s roof that he has truly become a theological detective. Everett wanders Tom’s neighborhood and ends up at his old church, which has been converted into a theater company.

Pages 150-166 Summary

Everett meets with his friend B., a director who wants Everett to write a particularly convoluted screenplay from B.’s life. B. had, on instinct, cast an unknown actress in a slasher film that features her mutilation; the film does well, but her career fails to take off, and one night she comes home to an intruder in her home who bites off her nose. B. is concerned about the instinct that led him to cast the woman, thinking he might have some prophetic capability, which is what the movie he wants Everett to write is about. Everett says that the central conundrum is who to cast as the woman, and B. says he will cast against his instincts this time; Everett asserts that’s only what he thinks he will be doing.

The narrative returns to Everett’s Wittgenstein monologue; it takes place as Wittgenstein is a professor trying to work out his philosophy while being alternately idolized and mocked by his students. He tells his students they should leave philosophy and do something practical, that he intends to do the same and has before. Then he speaks of his love for movies as art made from the literal materials of the world.

There is another midrash, this time of “Dancing in the Dark,” which compares the struggles of the Depression to the glamorous dancers up on screen; it implies that the real tragedy is what the poor were willing to pay to feel connected to the romantic world of film.

Everett meets with Tom’s bishop, who professes concern for Tom and claims that his problem is he’s “never quite shaken the sixties” (161). He says that Tom’s absolutism comes from an incident with his father, John Pemberton, who was also a member of the clergy and agreed to sign on to the heresy charges against a radical bishop, James Pike. Tom’s bishop says that the conflict between these two men is what made Tom who he is.

Everett puts down some notes about this, rethinking the way he will write Tom as a figure from the radical sects of the Catholic church. He also thinks about Tom’s first wife, Trish vanden Meer. They met at Yale, and Everett says that Tom’s attraction to her is rooted in both her and the fact that her father is an official in the Johnson administration that Tom hates.

This is followed by a letter from Tom’s ex father-in-law to Tom (though it is unclear if this is the actual letter of Everett’s reconstruction of it). In it, he writes that a veteran in a wheelchair has taken to picketing his home, and he does not know what to do. However he responds, the veteran has won, and he wants to know what Tom would do in that situation.

Pages 124-166 Analysis

The Wittgenstein quote that Everett incorporates into his writing drives his transition to “Author’s Bio,” a segment that occurs three times in the book, first as the story of his father, then his brother, and finally a stranger that rebuffs him. Everett is trying to position himself as someone who, since he witnessed the majority of it, is able to speak for the 20th century, but by relaying the stories of others instead of himself, it’s clear that he has been able to live at a remove from the tragedy that has befallen so many, and these sections are an overt attempt to engage with his own history and draw parallels between Sarah’s father (notably, Everett’s father also was a runner who ends up among the dead and dying, though his story takes place on the front lines of World War I) and Everett’s larger project of writing a novel about Everett.

The widening scope of Everett’s writer’s notebook speaks to a fundamental postmodern conceit: Modern existence is fractured and incoherent. Everett’s writings are an attempt to counter this idea by situating these elements in context with each other, and the structure of the novel creates a theory of mind for Everett; the reader is watching him struggle to understand himself and the material he’s putting down through the artifact of his writing. By imagining his father during the Great War, for example, he’s attempting to reconcile the middle-aged, football-watching man that he knew with a universal story of the chaos of trench warfare, which also helps him conceive of Sarah’s relationship to her own father. He makes this connection-seeking explicit when he breaks the monologue of his “Author’s Bio” poem to directly address his imagined audience—the bar they’re in is directly connected to the history that’s invisible to them—and then he returns to his narrative to show them that his father Ben was saved by his immigrant heritage. Again and again in City of God, bearing witness to history is a dominant theme.

The problem becomes the impossibility of accurately rendering history; Sarah echoes Pem in telling Everett that his ghetto narrative was inaccurate in ways that she noticed, and even though she claims he found truth, her words are another blow to his project. Sarah and Pem are both characters who are concerned with the truth which is fitting—they each in their own way are pursuing religious study that takes rationality and radical reassessment of what matters and is essential into account. In the same way that the Bible is a narrative, which has been mentioned and debated by characters (and will be debated more in the rest of the book), Everett is composing narratives based on history. The theologians in his life take issue with his writing the same way they take issue with the difference between narrative truth and historical truth.

Everett’s conversation with his friend B. shows his conflicted feelings about the function of art and its effect on the world. In particular, he’s concerned that artists don’t have control over their work, hinting that he is shaken by the notions of God he has been exploring with Thomas and Sarah and his own complicity in rendering their stories. This and the textual interpretation of “Dancer in the Dark” present the reader with an author who is unsure of the value of his own proposition in the modern world; in fact, art may have the unintended effect of doing harm with its idealized, consequence-free narratives. It becomes clear at this point that Everett is having a crisis of faith of his own, which will largely live in the subtext of what he chooses to write about and how his writing is in conversation with his interactions with Thomas and Sarah.

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