#thethirdpoliceman

Flann O’Brien, Myles Na gCopaleen; Brian O’Nolan. These are a short series of archived interviews about him from RTE.

Between Martin Finnucane and the narrator:

[N]...What is your objection to life?

[MF] Is it life? I would rather be without it for there is a queer small utility in it. You cannot eat it or drink it or smoke it in your pipe, it does not keep the rain out and it is a poor armful in the dark if you strip it and take it to bed with you after a night of porter when you are shivering with the red passion. {One of the few references (if not the only) to sex in the book, ed.} It is a great mistake and a thing better done without, like bed-jars and foreign bacon . . . 

[N] That is a nice way to be talking on this grand lively day when the sun is roaring in the sky and sending great tidings into our weary bones.

[MF] . . . Or feather-beds, or bread manufactured with powerful steam machinery. Is it life you say?

[Joe] Explain the difficulty of life yet stressing its essential sweetness and desirability.

[N, to Joe] What sweetness?

[Joe] Flowers in the spring, the glory and fulfillment of human life, bird-song at evening--you know very well what I mean.

[N, to Joe] I am not so sure about the sweetness all the same. [To MF] It is hard to get the right shape of it or to define life at all but if you identify life with enjoyment I am told there is a better brand of it at the cities than in the country parts and there is said to be a very superior brand of it to be had in certain parts of France. Did you ever notice that cats have a lot of it in them when they are quite juveniles?

[MF] Is it life? Many a man has spent a hundred years trying to get the dimensions of it and when he understands it at last and entertains a certain pattern of it in his head, by the hokey [Holy Spirit?] he takes to his bed and dies! He dies like a poisoned sheepdog. There is nothing so dangerous, you can’t smoke it, nobody will give you tuppence-halfpenny for the half of it and it kills you in the wind-up. It is a queer contraption, very dangerous, a certain death-trap. Life?

So far in Chapter 3, the narrator has been traveling from Mathers’s house, heading to the police barracks in an effort to get the cash box. He notices he is totally unfamiliar with the stunningly beautiful countryside around him, despite it being near his home. He also begins to remember his life, including the murder, but can’t remember his name. He imagines names that might be his, including Signor Beniamino Bari & Dr. Solway Garr, whose stories during a night at La Scala we hear through the narrator’s imagination. He then sets on about his journey.

The narrator begins to get sleepy (this happens a lot in the book) and lies down in a ditch. When he awakens, he is being overlooked by a very menacing character, a robber who will be revealed to be Martin Finnucane, “the captain of all the one-legged men in the country.” (p. 47.) Before he reveals himself to be a robber, the narrator tries to guess his occupation:

Bird-catcher

Tinker

Man on a journey

Fiddler

A man out after rabbits

A travelling man with a job of journey-work

Driving a steam thrashing-mill

Tin plates

Town clerk

Water-works inspector

With pills for sick horses

Farmer

Publican’s assistant

Something in the drapery line

Actor

Mummer [18-19th century English mime popular at Christmastime]

We are treated in this chapter to more detail about Sr. Bari, the eminent tenor. We hear tell of out-and-out riots, met by bayonet charges no less, outside the opera house of La Scala, in Milan, when it is announced that there is no more standing room remaining for Sr. Bari’s rendition of Puccini’s La Boheme. Tens of thousands of Bari fans rush the entrance. Scores are hurt, including a silly-named Constable, Peter Coutts (strange name for an ostensibly Italian policeman). 79 are killed!

This chaos is nearly matched by the “delirium” inside as Bari hits a high-C note in singing the aria Che Gelida Manina:

When he reached the high C where heaven and earth seem married in one great climax of exaltation, the audience arose in its seats and cheered as one man, showering hats, programmes, and chocolate-boxes on the great artist.

(p. 41) Quite the show. Mention is made of this aria, “What a cold little hand,” being the favorite of [Enrico] Caruso. There may be a clue here as to the time of the setting of TPP as well: Caruso first recorded Che Gelida Manina in 1906. While the recording is not referred too, it could be inferred that the novel is set after 1906 because it isn’t certain otherwise how the narrator would have been familiar with Caruso’s rendition of the aria except by hearing a recording. 

This fantasy appears to be the narrator’s ego projecting itself as the great Bari, as noted by Joe:

A bit overdone, perhaps, but it is only a hint of the pretensions and vanity that you inwardly permit yourself.

And that is not all! We are next told of Dr. Solway Garr, possibly in the audience at Sr. Bari’s ultimate performance. He gallantly saves the life of a fainted duchess who turned out to have a denture in her thorax. Dr. Garr is hailed as a hero. He refuses ten thousand guineas from the duke, tearing the check “to atoms.” The crowd, in appreciation, bursts impromptu into a rendition of ‘O Peace Be Thine’ (a song I don’t know of) and Dr. Garr demurs. Quite the hero.

Hugh Murray; Constantine Petrie; Peter Small; Signor Beniamino Bari; The Honourable Alex O’Brannigan, Bart.; Kurt Freund; Mr. John P. de Salis, M.A.; Dr[.] Solway Garr; Bonaparte Gosworth; Legs O’Hagan.

These are the names the author imagines might be his once he realizes he’s forgotten his name, though he remembers his life. Why is there no period after the “Dr” before Solway Garr? Typo? I don’t know. The other names I like very much.

Legs O’Hagan, in particular, sounds like he would be a cowardly Irish mobster who got his nickname by being the worst lookout ever, running away at even the slightest provocation.

Interestingly, Kurt Freund, whose name appears in the above list, was a “real-life” sex researcher who used measurements of blood flow to the penis to diagnose a wide variety of sexual . . . uh, proclivities, conditions, preconditions, preferences, orientations . . . whatever. Anyway, his research became the basis for the decriminalization of homsexuality in Czecholoslavakia in 1961 and in other countries later, though at first it was used to bar homosexuals from military service and to otherwise discriminate and punish. Based on his evidence, however, he eventually advocated that homosexuality was innate and not “curable.” He met resistance to these views but is widely revered today as an early advocate for LGBT rights. That said, his work has been criticized on all sides, whether for providing too easy a tool for discrimination, or for excusing perversion, or for just being general quackery. So, whether right or wrong, he can’t be said to be a politico or a crusader for either “side.”

More controversially, though, he also waded into the finer details of human sexuality by writing about and studying various “philias” that remain criminal, or that are, at least, politically questionable. His preference to diagnose rather than to condemn certain “turn-ons,” including that of active resistance by the sexual partner, remain highly controversial because they are said to turn criminal acts into diagnosable, inculpable conditions.

More interestingly still, in the late-1960s, when TPP was published, Mr. Freund’s earliest works, which first began to be published in 1958, would have been well known to those (as, say, journalists and civil servants such as the author) who could have easily accessed it. So let’s assume O’Nolan knew of Freund and his work and talked about it, maybe surreptitiously, to his colleagues. But TTP was written in 1939-40, before Freund had published anything, so if this reference is to the Kurt Freund, it would have had to have been added by the author to his manuscript for TTP much later than when it was originally written. That may seem unlikely, but it is also unlikely that the author just happened to coincidentally put a name as rare as Kurt Freund into his book. We will likely never know for certain, so let’s assume the author did intend to refer to the Kurt Freund...

Well, the author and his wife never had children despite 18 years of marriage. The author was raised in an oppressive sexual universe of Ireland in the 1920s. Little is known about his personal life. 

Further there are details such as this in TPP: 

‘Women I have no interest in at all,’ I said smiling.

‘A fiddle is a better thing for diversion.’ [Martin Finnucane]

(p. 47) This and other similar quotes from TPP could have just been in-character asides. But, is it not just as possible that the author was gay and was referencing Mr. Freund here because his work could be said to have normalized homosexuality at a time when it was condemned? Was the mention of Freund a signal to gay peers, or to himself? I don’t think the wider public would have been aware of Mr. Freund’s work until much later if at all, and such a one-off reference could have easily gone unnoticed. And perhaps that was the point. To make it obscure and unnoticeable to the point of deniability. 

Obviously, I can’t say definitively, and I am not trying to fall into a lazy, “everyone is gay”-type of “edgy” criticism. But I know there is precious little sex in TPP. There is also a strange co-sleeping arrangement between the narrator and Divney. There are also a few quotes, such as the above, which tend to be very dismissive of women, not just generally, but in terms of attractiveness and sexuality in particular. 

What’s more, in mulling this all over, you could consider the epically heterosexual and promiscuous life of many authors in the same era as Mr. O’Nolan, in contrast to the author’s own decidedly unremarked-upon personal sexual life, all in light of the mention of Mr. Freund and the other factors above, and decide for yourself whether these all carry with them any allusions as to the proclivities of Mr. O’Nolan in the sexual arena. 

Or, you could consider that he could have just been a practicing Catholic, even if not a devout one, or even a lapsed one, who did not (or only very rarely and regrettably) practiced fornication, and who happened to have had to deal with infertility on the part of himself or his wife. He may also have been an alcoholic, which can carry with it its own obstacles to sex and procreation.

Still though, the mention of Kurt Freund is a bit strange and possibly telling. 

A final note about Freund. He was a Czech Jew who married a non-Jewish Czech woman. They divorced in 1943 to protect his wife, Anna, and their daughter, Helen, from persecution by then-Czechoslovakian occupiers under anti-Jewish and anti-miscegenation laws. They remarried after the war and had a son. What a tragic and beautiful story. Also, Mr. Freund’s parents and brother were killed in the Holocaust. It is easy to forget how easy many of us have it today.

Their colloquy on “no” ends with the narrator trying to get Mathers to disclose the location of the cash box or give it to him using the “do you refuse trick.” Mathers refuses because the narrator no longer knows his name. As such, Mathers could not get a receipt to show who he gave the cash box to. The author is troubled by forgetting his name, but thinks he can always pick anyone he wants. He has a brief interior monologue about Signor Bari, and then he and Mathers move on to a dialogue about gowns.

Mathers posits that everyone is given a gown at birth by the policemen and another on each birthday. The subsequent gowns are worn on top of the others, stretching as the wearer grows, and residing beneath the rest of the wearer’s habiliments like Mormon undies. These gossamer garments vary in color depending on the direction of the wind at the recipient’s birth, but are so faintly colored as to be almost imperceptibly fine. Nonetheless, the darker the original tone, the sooner the later layers become totally opaque, at which time the wearer dies. So the lighter the original color, yellow, say, the longer you will live. Brown or maroon and you’re heading for an early grave. And you can see it coming with each new layer of under-garb.

This talk of lightly-colored robes is faintly interesting, but despite reflection, I don’t see the point besides folly. It is a fantastical and absurd notion, but doesn’t tie in to anything later in the novel. These digressions are not uncommon in TTP and I don’t begrudge this passage, except that it is not really funny either. Just strange. Were the book ever filmed, I could see this exchange being omitted except visually, with glimpses of the narrator’s robes, progressively darker, throughout the story. Perhaps the policemen would be shown sewing them. 

Or maybe this digression on wind and lightly-dyed gowns is a background story for a larger, never completed sequel or series of related books. It could provide color (so to speak) for a Third Policeman universe to be developed by Netflix or SyFy. I would love to see such a thing, with shows and movies about the narrator, the policemen, a young Mathers, Finnucane and his men, and all the rest of this terrifying splendor, but I fear I and anyone else who dared watch it would shortly be driven to suicide to escape the torment.

De Selbyiana

Some notes: This is where De Selby’s most famous theory, that of night as an accumulation of dark air, is first mentioned. (p. 32, n. 4) In that same footnote, oddly, De Selby’s work, A Memoir of Garcia, is first cited, but it short form (”Garcia”) as if it had been cited before. The work is cited in full for the first time six pages later. (Ch. III, p. 38, n.2) Whether this was an editing error, brought about by moving some footnotes around without revising them to ensure the full cite is made first and short cites only thereafter, or whether this is a purposeful gesture by the author as a nod to the absurdity and nihilism of TTP is unkown. I know as a former lawyer, that forgetting to correct short cites is very common when editing a brief under a deadline. You move the text with the first reference to a point after a subsequent short cite, or vice versa, and then when first reference is made, the reader doesn’t know what work you’re referring to. It is a pretty bad mistake because it is difficult for the reader to go ahead to try to find the full cite. But is also an easy mistake to make because editing for the propriety of short cites and long cites is a time consuming job often left until the end of editing and then often forgotten about.

In footnote 4 on page 32, we also see reference to a second commentary on De Selby from La Fournier, Homme ou Dieu (Man or God), the title of which refers, ridiculously, to De Selby.   

At the end of this exchange, Mathers tells the narrator that the police barracks is nearby, and identifies the policemen as Pluck, MacCruiskeen, and Fox (disappeared for 25 years). The narrator announces his intention to visit the police barracks, but decides to sleep at Mathers’s house for the night first because the sun has gone down during the conversation--gone down, BACK THE SAME WAY AS IT HAD COME UP!!! Spooky!