Patience is needed, as we gradually learn more about this sinisterly close-ordered Institute, our garnering its gestalt piecemeal, as I do, too, by remarkable chance happenstance, by dint of another book I am concurrently reading here, another institute of youngsters that we are gradually learning about and their situation, an interesting complementary contrast of prodigies in the King being surveilled (“They’re like missionaries selling a Jesus to a bunch of Indians…”) versus Litt’s differently sick children under the more direct gaze of God via the sorority of Sisters.
In this section of the King, together on a single page, are “Way up in the williwags” and “She wriggled her hand into the pocket of her pants…” There is a certain budding sexuality here, too, with Luke, and with remarkable coincidence I happened to be exposed last night to the Agnes Varda film “Le Petit Amour” (aka Kung-Fu Master!) - and this very morning, I seemed to pick two almost random references, from a Heuvelt story here, one to ‘williwags’ of which I had never before heard and the other of ‘wiggling hands in pockets’. “I don’t know how an abyss can be full -“Īmazing material about a 12 year old boy called Luke, to whose character and circumstances we grow page-turningly accustomed, including his super-ratiocination as a child prodigy, his humble parents, the plans for him until he is taken away by this book, a book and its characters as Institute, that replicates his room, but with newer if otherwise identical accoutrements, a house and family whence he has been kidnapped.
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