Welcome to the podcast for Thistlefield, Illinois’s Book Chat. I’m Lescott Baines, broadcasting from amphitheatre 3C in the Shriner’s . . . can you please turn off that freaking buffer?! Please. Please! Who buffs at eight in the morning? (muffled) Well, I know but (inaudible). Yeah, sure, you got that damn dog but I’ve . . . oh, forget it. Today, I’m joined by Mathilda Baines. How are you, Ma?
MB: I thought you said you’d give me bus fare?
LB: No, what I said (inaudible).
MB: That’s just great. Great!
LB: A-ha-ha . . . erm . . . okay, today we’ll be discussing the lesser-known literature of the Third Reich. You have them there, Ma?
MB: These things were murder to carry on the bus.
LB: Murder in more ways than one, a-ha-ha! (pause) All right, yes, they are substantial tomes. You know “tomes,” Ma?
MB: I should. I’m the one with a high school diploma.
LB: Let’s see. We’ve got Martin Bormann’s Volkisch Dance through the Middle Ages, Wilhelm Keitel’s My Thuringia and Otto Skorzeny’sRooftop Landings of Some Note. So. What themes did you see running through these works, Ma?
MB: You do know these books are in German?
LB: Well, they’re German books, but . . .
MB: No, they’re written in German.
LB: Hmm . . .
MB: You didn’t read them first?
LB: I’d like to say I skimmed them. I . . . perused.
MB: In German?
LB: Sure, I know lots of German.
MB: I want five words. If you can give me five words, that’s a month’s rent you don’t owe me.
LB: Okay, sure, there’s “Gott in Himmell.”
MB: What does that mean?
LB: It means God in the hills.
MB: I seriously doubt that.
LB: Okay, that’s two.
MB: One.
LB: Two!
MB: One!
LB: All right, Jesus, one.
MB: What did you say?!
LB: Nothing. Okay, there’s Mein Gott.
MB: That’s exactly the same.
LB: No, it means something completely different.
MB: As in?
LB: Well, it depends if you mean it in the Strindbergian sense or the Nabokovian sense.
MB: You are. Just like. Your father.
LB: I’m being serious. It depends how you, you know, place it in the sentence.
MB: Place it in the sentence, “I’m full of total shit.”
LB: Maaaaa. It’s a family podcast.
MB: I’m waiting.
LB: Okay, Mein Gott means mean God, or in a literary sense, the anger of the heavens.
MB: Anger of the heavens?
LB: Yeah.
MB: I’m leaving. (wrestling noises)
LB: Okay, Ma, now that we’ve figured that out, let’s try addressing the broader social implications of these literary fragments. Do you feel we should still be reading books by scumbags?
MB: Has your father written a book?
LB: Maaaaa. Come on.
MB: All right. Fine. Okay, considering neither of us has read these books, I’m going to have to say . . . sure.
LB: So you don’t have a problem reading a book by a guy like, say, Bormann here, who, like, used to crucify people for kicks and take baths in human blood?
MB: I told you. I didn’t read it.
LB: Okay, okay, buy it then.
MB: I didn’t . . .
LB: Fine, right. Uuuuh, take it on the bus. Did you feel right carrying this book on the bus so that people could see?
MB: I don’t know no people who speak German, Lescott. Neither do you. Neither does anyone in Thistledown. We ran all those rats off.
LB: Now Ma, I think what you’re talking about there is racial profilin’. Not all Germans are bad.
MB: They’re bad farmers, I can tell you that much.
LB: Sure, everyone knows that. But I mean, like, bad people.
MB: They ain’t Presbyterians, is all I know.
LB: Ma, you’re dodging the moral conundrum.
MB: Lescott, isn’t it time you got a job?
LB: Ma. Ma. Not during the podcast.
MB: Seriously, dear, the market’s hiring.
LB: Ma. Focus.
MB: All right. Fine. What was the question?
LB: Should all Germans be shot?
MB: That seems a little, you know, hot-headed. No. No, I don’t think so. I liked the pictures in this one.
LB: Which one?
MB: The one I’ve got my freaking finger on!
LB: (stage whisper) Ma, it’s a podcast. No one can see what you’re pointing at.
MB: Oh. Right. This one. My Thurangeeah.
LB: That is a beautiful work by a terrible, terrible man. He used to cut people’s heads off, hollow them out and wear them like helmets. For kicks. Total scumbag.
MB: It looks like a nice family. Here, in the leather pants. They look nice.
LB: Human head helmets, Ma.
MB: I know, I know, but it’s nice when you see people together like that. And I bet his father didn’t spend every Saturday night going wild at bingo.
LB: Germans don’t play bingo, Ma.
MB: What do they play?
LB: (pause) Baseball.
MB: That’s terrible. They even took that from us, too.
LB: Now this guy here, Otto Skorzeny, he is the freaking worst.
MB: I didn’t like his book. Too much writey-writey.
LB: He was like a loon, this one. He used to go around telling people he had guy parts and girl parts.
MB: He didn’t.
LB: He did.
MB: He looks pretty masculine to me. Strong. I like his face. He has kind eyes.
LB: Maaaaa, he’s a freaking Nazi.
MB: Your father should be so lucky.
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