Misplaced Sympathy

Not only is Catch-22 hilarious, it's also difficult to read because of how funny it is. Heller's writing and the character of Yossarian, his twisted logic and shameless honesty, are marvelous spirals downward as you loop around and around the approaching punchline like an Abott and Costello act until you finally reach the point of submission.

The problem is... imagine a 500-page Abott and Costello act! As of right now, there are so many characters it's difficult to cling to any except for the gruesome likeness of Clevinger and Yossarian's argument I referenced in the previous post. I felt for Clevinger having to interact with someone so detached from linear conversation.

Then I read the chapter on Clevinger, a young soldier pulled out of his overachieving life as an excelling college student and extracurricular activities junkie. His ignorance to his own lack of importance in the grander scheme and his addiction to order and sense of his own creation. A naive approach to authority and a belief that any silence would be made better by his own voice.

"I want someone to tell me," Lieutenant Scheisskopf beseeched them all prayerfully. "If any of it is my fault. I want to be told."
"He wants someone to tell him," said Clevinger.
"He wants everyone to keep still, idiot," Yossarian answered.
"Didn't you hear him?" Clevinger argued.
"I heard him," Yossarian replied. "I heard him say very loudly and very distinctly that he wants every one of us to keep our mouths shut if we know what's good for us."
"I won't punish you," Lieutenant Scheisskopf swore.
"He says he won't punish me," said Clevinger.
"He'll castrate you," said Yossarian.
"I swear I won't punish you," said Lieutenant Scheisskopf. "I'll be grateful to the man who tells me the truth."
"He'll hate you," said Yossarian. "To his dying day, he'll hate you."

But of course Clevinger doesn't listen to Yossarian and takes the bait laid out by the Lieutenant and eventually ends up in a comedy of errors trial for being subordinate and STILL proceeds to allow those two meat flaps surrounding his mouth to dig his grave deeper.

For anyone following along, in the previous post I was Clevinger in the metaphor. With further reading and a little introspection, it is clear I am still Clevinger.

In the grander scheme, my sympathy goes to Yossarian and "Yossarian".

Sympathy for Clevinger

Last night, after midnight... no head starts, I started reading Catch-22 and couldn't help but laugh at the conversations subsidiary characters were having with Yossarian. Conversations where the former would grow increasingly more frustrated as Yossarian rounded the edges and kept the words circling back and back and back.

"Who's they?" he wanted to know. "Who, specifically, do you think is trying to murder you?"
"Every one of them," Yossarian told him.
"Every one of whom?"
"Every one of whom do you think?"
"I haven't any idea."
"Then how do you know they aren't?"
"Because..."Clevinger sputtered, and turned speechless with frustration.

I was laughing at this dialogue last night, and just moments ago I was sputtering and turned speechless with frustration in the kitchen. It's extremely difficult to have a conversation that doesn't lead to an argument when the other person reads into everything you say with their own meanings and definitions without giving you a clue of their silent additions.

"You said this."
"No I didn't."
"Yes you did."
"When?"
"When you said that."
"NO I DIDN'T!"
"Yes you did."
"You're hearing things."
"No I'm not. You got water on the bathroom floor too."
(sputtering)

It leaves you with a feeling I can only assume is most close to snapping out of a waking coma to find that somewhere in that time you got married, enlisted in the army, became an Amway representative and became besties with the Church of Scientology.

Clevinger, you have my sympathies.