by Garrison Frost

While the South Bay is generally a nice place to live, it frankly doesn't have nearly the literary legacy of a Paris, London, New York City or Prague. Sure, Leonard Wibberly raised a family here, Thomas Pynchon ate burritos in our crappiest Mexican restaurants and Charles Bukowski read aloud at local bars, but this isn't generally the kind of place that inspires great writers to pen masterpiece.

One does wonder how living in the South Bay might have effected our greatest literary giants:

Franz Kafka

K. went out in search of breakfast. The sun was out and the air was warm, but it was foggy and cold in his heart.

His father had been right. K. was pale and weak, a stranger in a city where everyone lies out in the sun and exercises regularly. But K. could not lie out in the sun. It gave him fevers. He remembered once when a beautiful woman asked him to go rollerblading, and K. had screamed and run home terrified.

K. arrived at the shop and ordered an onion bagel.

"I might have an onion bagel," the clerk said to him. "But then I might not."

"When will I know?" K. asked.

"You must wait, perhaps for many years."

The clerk offered K. a decaf mocha, but when K. brought it to his lips it tasted odd, metallic.

Henry James

The attractive young couple, the Penningtons, American cousins to a fine London family of textile merchants, with a hint of royalty on the grandmother's side, stepped out of the taxi near the intersection of Western Avenue and Torrance Boulevard. Before the young man, Thomas Anderson Pennington could say anything, the cab had sped off.

This is where their ignorance had brought them, their pursuit of something more than the wealth and power of their families.

"Oh god, Thomas, what will we tell Father?"

At that moment a young man walked by, baggy pants and hat backwards, who immediately comprehended their situation.

"What's the problem," he said. "Alpine Village is just down the street. Get a sausage."

Ernest Hemingway

The surfers came down to the water with their great surfboards and stood watching the rolling curving rising power of the waves for a time. Then they were in the water, basking in the powerful wetness of the ocean. And the power. And the wetness.

When they were finished they sat on the shore, the very sandy shore, silent, remembering how good the surfing was, thinking of how good it was to sit here, muscles sore, remembering how good the surfing was.

"The surfing was good today," one of them said.

The fool has ruined everything by speaking, though another – the surfing, the sitting, the remembering.

Raymond Chandler

The blonde on the skates performed a sort of oval around me before coming to a stop, capping the action with a kind of S-maneuver. She had the kind of legs that cause traffic accidents.

"I need you to find someone for me," she said.

I lit a cigarette and asked her who she was looking for.

"His name is Tom and he skateboarded off that way an hour ago." She gestured with her Jamba Juice.

It occurred to me that there were probably thousands of blondes in this town with legs like this looking for Toms on skateboards. And all of them probably meant trouble for a guy like me.

The Apostle Mark

"Lay down your Boogie Boards," he told them. "I will make you Boogie Boarders of men .. for I am in the little grommet of the way-big dude .. and you will be my Twelve Bros."

Edgar Allen Poe

Quoth the raven, "Whatever."

Jack London

The half dog/half wolf leapt into action at his master's command. His eyes unwavering from the object of his anger, fire in his eyes, the great animal flashed across the earthen floor. Finally, the beast took to the air, fangs gleaming in the cold morning – and caught the orange Frisbee.

All the other dogs in the park barked their approval. Especially the Dalmations.

Dante

And Virgil pointed
Toward the eternal agony
The sinners who don't use suntan lotion

Thomas Jefferson

We the Locals, in order to make things pretty cool, establish good Mexican restaurants, ensure Justice, provide for lots of free parking, promote high property values, and secure clean beaches for ourselves and our posterity ...

Jane Austin

"Oh golly, momma, do you think we'll go to the Galleria today?" said Anna Parsons. "I've so wanted another stroll about that mall."

"Perhaps it will be the Galleria, perhaps it will be something else," he mother replied.

"Fiddle! You can't be thinking of taking us to Del Amo. That's just too big. It's not, not decent."

"You'll know when I tell you, Anna. Now, get yourself in the Expedition."

(Dec. 3, 2003)

© Copyright 1999-2003 The Aesthetic