--10--

“So what do you think of him?” asked Amanda as she wiped the counter in the kitchen.

“Actually, I liked him. We’re having lunch together tomorrow. He wants to give Anax and Shelly a chance to sniff each other too.”

Amanda laughed. “The first date should be called the sniff-fest?”

“I showed him my pictures, and he said nice things. He’s a writer.”

“What kind of writer?”

“Science fiction.”

“Awesome! Space opera?”

“No, not exactly. The piece I just read was about virtual reality. It was only the first chapter. But I liked it.”

“Can I read it?” Amanda asked.

“I would assume so. Let me go get it.” Virginia went back to her room for her laptop.

Amanda poured herself another cup of coffee and sat down to read. “Paris or Whatever,” she said. “What kind of a title is that?”

“A titillating one,” said Virginia. “Read a little ways. I think you’ll start to get the idea.”

Amanda started reading, then looked up again. “What are these movies he’s talking about? about Paris? Have you seen them?”

“Oh yes, I used to go to all those old black and white movies. Truffaut, Godard, great stuff. They even had a name for it—let me think—New Wave. You must have heard of it.”

“It sounds vaguely familiar. Have I seen any of them? What’s the best one?”

“Jules and Jim, no contest. I just loved it. I actually was in the movie theater by myself when I saw it, and I was so impressed that I sat through it twice in a row. It’s with Jeanne Moreau and that German actor, the one from Fahrenheit 451.”

“Oh yeah, I know the one. I’ll have to see if they have it on Netflix.” She looked down at the laptop again. “Ew, gross! Paris is a pile of shit? I don’t know if I like this.”

“Oh, it’s just a joke. I mean, a large part of the population deals with shit all the time; hunters, farmers, nurses, mothers. Why be squeamish?”

“Well it’s different if it’s your baby. It’s like it’s your own. But okay, point taken.” Amanda went back to reading.

Virginia picked up the newspaper and glanced through it, keeping a covert eye on her daughter. She knew it didn’t really matter if Amanda liked the story, but somehow she felt it did. Here they had access to an authentic part of the guy’s psyche, it had to be a key to understanding what kind of person he was and ultimately, whether he could fit into their family circle.

“Oh, I see,” said Amanda. “It’s like those art exhibits—Immersive Whosits, where you feel like you’re walking through a painting. I haven’t tried it because I kind of like paintings, I don’t feel like I need technology to immerse myself. I guess it is the wave of the future though.”

“You know there was a time when reading a book was a way of transporting yourself out of your humdrum everyday life,” said Virginia. “In fact, I think that’s just about the only reason anybody reads anymore. But time doesn’t stand still, and this virtual Paris thing is what’s coming. Does it give you a little sense of nostalgia?”

“More than a little.” Amanda pointed at the newspaper on the table. “That’s already an artifact. I don’t just feel nostalgia for the past, I feel it for the things that are all around me. They’re all slipping away too fast. I feel like I might be next.” She looked back at the laptop. “I like it that he writes about an ordinary guy, not a superhero. Do you think the character is based on himself?”

“They say all characters are. It’s like Flaubert said, ‘Madame Bovary, c’est moi.’”

“Did he say if he had published anything?” asked Amanda.

“No, and I didn’t ask.”

“Well, if he has and didn’t mention it, that’s a point in his favor, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, but it’s not very likely.” Virginia shrugged.

“Bring him home sometime so we can all meet him. It can’t hurt to have another opinion, right?”

“Mmhm. Did you finish the story?” Virginia reached for her laptop.

“Just a second, there’s a little more.” When Amanda looked up again, she said, “It sounds like it isn’t really Paris at all; it’s a jumble of ideas about Paris that they threw together to appeal to as many people as possible. Why would anybody pay a lot of money for that?”

“I was thinking the same thing,” said Virginia. “I think he’s getting at something, but I’m not sure what.”

“Find out if you can read another chapter. Or better yet, get a short story where you can read the whole thing.”

“Okay, I’ll write to him right now. Is it fair to say we both liked it a lot and want to read more?”

“Tell him our interest was piqued. Does that sound deep enough?”

“I don’t know. He really dived into the pictures I showed him. You know the one of the Mississippi in Itasca State Park? He talked about how looking at a river was like seeing a whole life from the outside and said he wondered how it would feel to be a river. I was kind of impressed.”

“Wow, that’s amazing. Okay, let’s come up with something that’ll impress him. Maybe something about how it brings home the difference between the virtual and the real?”

Virginia nodded. “Yeah, it’s easy to think virtual reality is the same as alternate reality, but it’s not, is it? Some virtual creations may be stunningly realistic, but others may be deliberately different—or unintentionally different, for that matter.”

“Right, and it’s precisely because of the flaws that it’s more interesting than if we were simply being transported to the Paris of the past. I mean, what’s interesting about a perfect reproduction, other than the fact that it’s even possible? An imperfect reproduction, on the other hand, is what we call art, and we venerate it. I like this Paris that can be evaluated as a work of art. Even the things that are clearly inaccurate can be appreciated, like it was a Picasso or something.”

“That’s a good start. We’ll see what he comes up with for a follow-up act.”