Terms swarm up to tempt me in the course of this description: etc. These guessing words I find junked in my brain in deranged juxtaposition, like files randomly stuffed into cabinets by a dispirited secretary with no notion of what, if anything, might ever be usefully retrieved. Often all language seems this way: a monstrous compendium of embedded histories I'm helpless to understand. I employ it the way a dog drives a car, without grasping how the car came to exist or what makes a combustion engine possible. That is, of course, if dogs drove cars. They don't. Yet I go around forming sentences.
In this passage from "Chronic City" by Jonathan Lethem, the narrator reflects on the chaotic nature of language and its complexities. The speaker feels overwhelmed by a jumble of thoughts and words that are disorganized in the mind, much like a disheveled office where important documents are lost amidst clutter. This metaphor illustrates a struggle with communication, where meaning seems elusive and the mental process is automatic yet lacking in true comprehension.
The narrator likens their use of language to a dog driving a car, highlighting a kind of ignorance about the underlying mechanics of communication. This analogy emphasizes the disconnect between the act of speaking and the understanding of language's origins or its functionality. The writer expresses a sense of futility in making sense of the inherent histories and intricacies of words, suggesting that language, while an essential tool, can feel like a mysterious and sometimes confounding construct.
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All the things you can talk about in anyone's work are the things that are least important.
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