"Longing On A Large Scale Is What Makes History"
The young man walks fast by himself through the crowd that thins into the night streets; feet are tired from hours of walking; eyes greedy from warm curve of faces, answering flicker of eyes, the set of a head, the lift of a shoulder, the way hands spread and clench; blood tingles with wants; mind is a beehive of hopes buzzing and stinging; muscles ache for the knowledge of jobs, for the roadmaster’s pick and shovel work, the fisherman’s knack with a hook when he hauls on the slithery net from the rail of the lurching trawler, the swing of the bridgeman’s arm as he slings down the whitehot rivet, the engineer’s slow grip wise on the throttle, the dirt farmer’s use of his whole body when, whoaing the mules, he yanks the plow from the furrow. The young man walks by himself searching through the crowd with greedy eyes, greedy ears taut to hear, by himself, alone.
—John Dos Passos, U.S.A.
Does every young man feel that way? The collegiate autumn I lived in Spain I remember many nights spent walking around for hours on end, stopping into a tapas bar in one neighborhood, striking off for a faraway plaza, getting a text from a friend that impelled me to a flamenco joint 3 miles away on the other side of the river, all to maximize the lived experience.
I’ve walked alone at night for so many hours in Paris, Munich and Seville — sober many times, half-drunk others, listening to Velvet Underground on earphones or merely the sounds of the city, going ten nights straight finding little of consequence, stumbling that odd Tuesday at 3 am into the after hours restaurant where a band is playing a last set that turns into a jam session that peaks three times before spilling out into the streets, so that you’re wandering home all hyped up on the night, watching the dark windows that stand between you and the sleeping populace, knowing you’ve stolen a few more moments of life than they’ll get.
It is impossible to live in New York City without lusting after careers you’ll never have, women you’ll never date — not unattainable fantasy jobs and girlfriends, but paths you might’ve taken were there only time to take them all. If only a man could live ten lives, you think to yourself, standing in autumn on an outdoor Brooklyn subway platform, the air just brisk enough to invigorate the lungs, the night a bundle of potential energy as yet unspent.
I haven’t any idea how many women are inclined to solitary all night wanderlust around sundry cities, but even if it is merely 5 percent, I still regard my ability to do that in relative safety and their inability to do the same among the most profound experiential advantages of being male in this world.
And that passage — what a way to start a book! The post title, by the way, is a sentence from Pafko at the Wall.
“LONGING ON A LARGE SCALE IS WHAT MAKES HISTORY”
Longing is the wrong word. Longing has a positive, romantic conotation. The longing for a certain woman or a certain life. And when you say “longing on a large scale,” it starts to sound like National Socialism. “The people long to fulfill their destiny….”
I think greed and lofgeornost—the desire for fame— on the individual level are what makes history.
— cw · Sep 9, 04:25 AM · #
“knowing you’ve stolen a few more moments of life than they’ll get”
This strikes me as a different kind of greed — or at least a different kind of self-consciousness about one’s own greed — than that which Passos describes [though I haven’t read the book], as if the direction of one’s greed is inward rather than outward. That isn’t a criticism – it’s just a different feel reading the two passages. The young man seems as skilled at observing as those he observes are at their own trade, and he is observed by the reader in turn. You would guess that his response to the sleeping wouldn’t be quite the same as yours. It might be more like Bono’s, when he reflected on “Boy” in a comment at Rolling Stone: “To live in the garret with a knife in your hand and a bleeding ear is more romantic than the fragility that leaves open the wound…Bohemia is more attractive than suburbia but maybe you don’t live there, maybe you live on a street which is like any other street where the opera that goes on behind parted curtains is more than enough . . .”
Your paragraph about New York City is a nice contrast – one is constantly writing novels about oneself without having first observed.
— Tony Sifert · Sep 9, 04:51 AM · #
Nice work guys!
this is just Amazing!
Thanks
— supra shoes · Sep 9, 07:16 AM · #
No worries, Supra Shoes — we at The American Scene aim to please. I hope you’ll be reading the USA trilogy along with us.
— Conor Friedersdorf · Sep 9, 07:22 AM · #
I am about to become a father, and don’t yet know the gender of my inborn child. I was reflecting on my life as a single man in my twenties. Solo road trips across the Western US in pursuit of trout. Solitary camping trips in the Colorado Rockies. Four years in the Army, walking around the streets of Seoul, Budapest and Heidelberg. If I have a daughter will she be able to live the same way? Will she set off on solitary adventures in strange places? Will she want to? Will I feel comfortable if she does?
— BrianF · Sep 9, 07:02 PM · #
Conor: Thanks for this. As a journalism student in Manhattan now, I find myself doing this from time to time and it is nice to steal those moments because, as you get older, there’s just not as much time to indulge yourself in this way.
— Mike P · Sep 10, 04:10 PM · #
BrianF,
Let me assure you that I’ve had plenty of solitary adventures in strange places — many more than my brother. And my sister was in the Army, in Seoul, Somalia and Bahrain. Neither of us do much fishing though.
— bailey · Sep 11, 03:51 PM · #
You must be thanking God every day.
— Julana · Sep 12, 12:46 AM · #