The Curious Letters of Dr. Prinassus
NOTE: If my early work has any kind of oeuvre, its a joining of un-diagnosed depression and a rejection of established social narrative. Here, I decided to challenge the idea that certain people are natural successes, and if you want to be a success, you should follow in their footsteps.
His other slight peculiarity was the habit when distracted by thought of taking up improbable positions on furniture. ~ Bill Bryson, on Charles Lyle
My Dearest Lulu,
I have met the most fascinating man, today. His name is Finnigan, and he has been assured to me of a most particularly voluminous mind. Professor Lindly — remember him, my dear? He of the flowing hair? — introduced me to Mr. Finnigan as a student of philosophy, geology, chemistry, and physics. He seems a most genial fellow, though Lindly seemed to find him eccentric. I look forward to many great and wonderful conversations with him in the future.
I am glad to hear that your brother is feeling better. Having once received a fairly serious burn on my arm from a particularly exothermic reaction, I can imagine what it must be like to loose the use of ones limb. Please extend my sympathies to him.
Dr. Prinassus
My Dearest Lulu,
I had the chance to lunch with Mr. Finnigan today. I’m afraid I may have made a bit of a fool of myself, however. Eager to make a good impression, I arrived at the cozy roadside bistro with a box full of my papers on the problem of combustion, including several interesting combusted logs for study. Finnigan, however, seemed less interested in exploring the intricacies and curiosities of combustion, and more devoted to a discussion of the validity of several recent fossil discoveries. I felt incredibly unprepared for the discussion, sadly, and Finnigan seemed incredibly put out at having to explain what appeared to be fairly simple facts. I have managed, however, to set up another meeting with him, and hopefully I will be able to regain my lost honor.
Please greet your father for me, and apologize for my last letter to him. I had eaten an underdone ham for dinner, and he knows what that does to me.
Dr. Prinassus
My Dearest Lulu,
I am pleased to report that Mr. Finnigan seemed far more open to my ideas today, as I came prepared with my recent dissertation on the discovery of the astreliopithicopanthus skull in Southern Virginia. He was ready with several antithesis’s to my thesis, but seemed far more engaged and focused than he had before. While I did nothing so vulgar as ask his opinion, as curious as I was, I feel that your dear doctor has regained a significant portion of face in the eyes of his peers.
I hesitate to write of a curiosity during the meal, but it was such a bizarre event that I am confident I will be unable to sleep tonight if I do not comit it to paper. At one point during the conversation, after I raised a delicate counterpoint to Mr. Finnigan’s assertion, a strange look crossed his face and he stood up, placing his foot on his chair, resting his elbow on top of his head. He did this for a moment, and then came back with a brilliant refutation of my point. He re-took his seat and resumed the meal with no mention of his strange behavior. He invited me to his home for an evening with several peers in the scientific community.
Please pet dear Tiresus for me,
Dr. Prinassus
My Dearest Lulu,
I understand now exactly why Mr. Finnigan is considered so eccentric by our scientific peers. I arrived somewhat late to Mr. Finnigan’s dinner party, and was astounded to see how many names were there! If I had the time to speak with but half of his distinguished clientele, I would have walked away with ten times the intelligence that I have. Scientists and Philosophers from all corners of the globe, twelve different languages bandied about as pieces of paper, chunks of rock, and exotic maps were shared between learned men of all stripes!
I confess, I spent the first minute or two praising God that he had seen fit to place me in this room, before I began to sample the lovely hors d’erves that were being carried about. I looked around for my host and was astonished to find him alone in one corner of the room, upside down with his head on the cushion of a chair, his feet straight up in the air. I greeted him cautiously, not wishing to cause any undue distraction that might result in his loss of balance, but I was hushed by a nearby geologist, who proclaimed that our host was busy formulating a dissertation on the shifting strata of volcanic rock.
I thought it best not to pry too deeply into this bizarre behavior, and instead found a man of distinguished airs with whom to converse while my host was thinking. We had just begun to exchange ideas of a most intellectually demanding nature, when my peer suddenly lay down on the floor, his feet and arms perpendicular to the wooden deck on which we stood.
This action was taken with such lack of disruption in my fellow’s discourse that I was forced to allow it to pass without much in the way of attention or discussion. The conversation did not last much longer after this strange shift in posture, and I graciously excused myself to find someone else with which to speak.
This continued to happen repeatedly during the party. Before long I was no longer beginning conversations with anyone who was standing normally, but rather speaking with those who had the fewest limbs extended from the torso. At last, the behavior of my peers was simply too extravagant for me to allow to continue with no comment, so I asked a nearby physicist why everyone seemed inclined to pose themselves like bizarre statues whenever discussing complex and fascinating subjects.
“My dear sir,” the physicist explained, with a look of stark amazement on his face, “Mr. Fennigan began this habit years ago. There is no discounting he is a genius, and all who desire to make half of the wonderful discoveries he has will ape his actions to the finest degree.”
“And to what purpose are these postures?” I pried. “Do they somehow increase the activity of the brain?”
“I’m sure none of us know,” replied the physicist. “However, none can deny that while we contort our bodies in thought, we take on the airs of a great and powerful genius.”
At his comment, I looked around the room and noticed indeed that every scientist I could see had fallen silent in thought, while draping themselves in strange and exotic poses that reminded me of ancient Greek statues that had been tossed about the room in apathy. I confess, I wondered then and there about the mental states of every man in the room — not so much for their desire to copy a genius, but their ready and able willingness to completely ignore the countless geniuses who came before that relied on no such tableaus to think!
Dr. Prinassus