Weekend Guide: 05.14.2021

It was intense, psychedelic craziness.

From “The Pugilist at Rest” by Thom Jones

Theogenes was the greatest of gladiators. He was a boxer who served under the patronage of a cruel nobleman, a prince who took great delight in bloody spectacles. Although this was sev­eral hundred years before the times of those most enlightened of men Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle, and well after the Minoans of Crete, it still remains a high point in the history of Western civilization and culture. It was the approximate time of Homer, the greatest poet who ever lived. Then, as now, vio­lence, suffering, and the cheapness of life were the rule.

The sort of boxing Theogenes practiced was not like modern-day boxing with those kindergarten Queensberry Rules. The two contestants were not permitted the freedom of a ring. Instead, they were strapped to flat stones, facing each other nose-to-nose. When the signal was given, they would begin hammering each other with fists encased in heavy leather thongs. It was a fight to the death. Fourteen hundred and twenty-five times Theogenes was strapped to the stone and fourteen hundred and twenty-five times he emerged a victor.

The pugilist is sitting on a rock with his forearms bal­anced on his thighs. That he is seated and not pacing implies that he has been through all this many times before. It appears that he is conserving his strength. His head is turned as if he were looking over his shoulder—as if someone had just whis­pered something to him. It is in this that the “art” of the sculpture is conveyed to the viewer. Could it be that someone has just summoned him to the arena? There is a slight look of befuddlement on his face, but there is no trace of fear. There is an air about him that suggests that he is eager to proceed and does not wish to cause anyone any trouble or to create a delay, even though his life will soon be on the line. Besides the defor­mities on his noble face, there is also the suggestion of weari­ness and philosophical resignation. All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players. Exactly! He knew this more than two thousand years before Shakespeare penned the line. How did he come to be at this place in space and time? Would he rather be safely removed to the countryside—an obscure, stinking peasant shoving a plow behind a mule? Would that be better? Or does he revel in his role? Perhaps he once did, but surely not now. Is this the great Theogenes or merely a journeyman fighter, a former slave or criminal bought by one of the many contractors who for months trained the condemned for their brief moment in the arena? I wonder if Marcus Aurelius loved the “Pugilist” as I do, and came to study it and to meditate before it.¹

---

my copy

There’s something in a name. When I first read the title “The Pugilist at Rest” I knew I would have a brief but intense love affair with it. My instinct was dead on.

The above is an aside. It’s a rabbit hole explored by the narrator of “The Pugilist at Rest” by Thom Jones. It’s a 25 page short story that kicks off the collection baring its name.

The story is set in a combat zone in Vietnam. There are a lot of guns, drugs, doing drugs while holding guns, and killing. Mix in some longing for home and lots of praying that you will be a different person. That you’ll be better. If you only made it out alive.

You make it out alive. Then what? Darkness reverberates. It creeps. It can manifest itself however it chooses. What can you do about it? What can you do with it?

This is the jumping off point for most of the stories within The Pugilist at Rest.

boxer (dog)

If you recall, back in January I wondered if I had hit my quota of dark, brooding, minimalist fiction. I felt like I had enough of every short story writer who has been run through the Iowa Writers’ Workshop.

But here I fucking go again! Thom Jones is Raymond Carver on Acid. More psychedelic. Less minimal. more inclined to tell you why. But like Carver - Jones writes sad stories about sad people. Thom Jones worked - for most of his life - as a Janitor.

rolex submariner on wrist

In the eleven stories that comprise “The Pugilist at Rest” Jones somehow finds a way to work in a Boxer (dog), an actual Boxer (fighter), and a Rolex Submariner. It’s really strange. But it works. I can’t recall another short story collection where random items, and random animals make appearances throughout. I still can’t make any sense of it.

Short stories are not 100% my bag. But these do it for me. I will read more Thom Jones. If you have yet to give him a spin, I suggest you do. It is intense, psychedelic craziness.

Thanks for sticking with a wordy post this week. As always, let me know what you think in the comments below. If you know someone who would enjoy this newsletter, give it a share. Enjoy your weekend. Peace and love.

1. After reading this passage. I spent a lot of time looking at photos of Boxer at Rest. I was fully back in my Arty History 101 bag for a bit. I think it’s a lot of fun to look at.