J.D. Salinger -- More, Please!

I had a thought.  (And what is a blogger to do with his thoughts if not write them out for the world, or his three readers, wherever they are, to see?)

So, first, by way of context:  We at The Wall have just recently finished Lewis Carroll's two Alice books, the second of which provided the opportunity to briefly examine an excised "episode," relatively recently discovered and published.  Over the weekend, I picked up my battered copy of Salinger's Seymour, and Introduction and took to enjoying it yet again.  Salinger, like Carroll, is dead.  Also like the Carroll, Salinger wrote something--a lot of somethings, if the news is to be believed--that he never published. 

The day Jerome David Salinger died, I had the same thought had by so many, and it was a greedy, unkind one.  Part of me, I'm ashamed to admit, was happy he was gone.  After all, now, finally, we might actually get the potential mountains of genius material with which he never deemed to grace the world.  The literary cannon would expand!

Maybe I was wrong. 

If I'm honest with myself, I (and I speak for me alone, though, again, if I'm being honest, I think I might even be qualified to speak for the literary world at large here, at least in this case) don't need "The Wasp in a Wig."  Don't get me wrong, I love the episode, but I think I love it more because I love Carroll and Alice; not so much for its intrinsic value (which, as it happens, is not null, but yet pales--nearly disappears! --alongside the glaring brilliance of the rest of Looking-Glass).  Is Carroll a better writer for having penned it?  Are we better scholars ("scholars") for having read it?  Does it benefit its source material?  At all?

Well ...  *sigh*  ... no, maybe-but-not-by-much, and no.

In my little collection of great writers and their great works, I've got Salinger on a pedestal similar to Carroll's.  Both have relatively little fiction available to the public (contrast this to someone like Steinbeck, who's got tons), and their ratios of near-/perfect to largely-flawed works are both impossibly high.  If I apply a friend's scale for rating literature (upon which I give Wonderland a 4.5/5 and Looking-Glass a 5/5), I would give a portion of Salinger's fiction the same: Catcher in the Rye -- 4.5/5; Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters -- 4.5/5; "A Perfect Day for Bananafish" -- 5/5; "For Esme' -- with Love and Squalor" -- 5/5.

My impression of Carroll didn't change when I read "The Wasp in a Wig," and it didn't change when I finally admitted to myself that it was far, far from the more-or-less perfection of the Alice books.  Why?  Most likely because he didn't publish it!  Would the same be the case with Salinger's alleged 15 un-published novels if they ever come to light?  Would my love of Salinger and every word he's written (well, published) remain untainted?

I don't know.  Is it worth the risk?

Sunday Poetry XVIII -- Through the Looking Glass: CARROLL'S TERMINAL POEM

For its appearance and lilt that suggest but the purest of simplistic beauties, and its genius technique and allusions, this poem is perhaps Lewis Carroll's greatest piece of poetry.  It also represents everything that Carroll thought and felt of/for Alice Pleasance Liddell, the inspiration, subject, and protagonist of the two Alice books.  While it is certainly the opposing end-paper to Looking-Glass's introductory poem, it is, I believe, far more doleful, and in that regard, much more reminiscent of the melancholy winter outside the windows of chapter 1, kissing at the panes, but forever distant.  The first poem appropriately and artfully introduces the book, and also sets well the tone of this new distance yawning between him and his Alice; the closing poem indeed closes it all, shuts the book, but dog-ears the corner.  After the crowning, after the fireworks, after her waking, he steps back, sits, and allows himself the nostalgia of watching her distantly, under the clouds.

Of course, the poem is most famous for being an acrostic featuring Alice Liddell's full name.  Notice also that "Alice" begins the central line of the poem, and more, this is where she is moving "phantomwise," "under skies."  Some believe that the meter, if not the tercets (which serve the 21 letters of Alice's name), and the renewed reminiscence of rowing, matches the anonymous verse of "Row, Row, Row Your Boat."  If you hold this thought and go all the way back and reread "All in a Golden Afternoon," you'll see that the girls there are referred to, appropriately, as a "merry" crew, but this masterpiece is far from merry.  He longs for the past, when things were so.

Finally, consider the last line.  Hold it up against the Red King and Alice's predicament remembered at the end of the final chapter.  What do you think?

A BOAT beneath a sunny sky,

Lingering onward dreamily

In an evening of July —

Children three that nestle near,

Eager eye and willing ear,

Pleased a simple tale to hear —

Long has paled that sunny sky:

Echoes fade and memories die:

Autumn frosts have slain July.

Still she haunts me, phantomwise,

Alice moving under skies

Never seen by waking eyes.

Children yet, the tale to hear,

Eager eye and willing ear,

Lovingly shall nestle near.

In a Wonderland they lie,

Dreaming as the days go by,

Dreaming as the summers die:

Ever drifting down the stream —

Lingering in the golden gleam —

Life, what is it but a dream?

Through the Looking Glass XII -- chapters 9 - 12: The End

Chapter 9:

I'm not really sure how to approach this one; there's really not a whole lot to say about it.  Alice is Queen.  Carroll has said goodbye.  She takes her position gracefully (no stiff-neckedness here), and as things settle, so they fall apart.  The dream ends here, just like it did in the Tart Trial of Wonderland, and the only thing left to Carroll is to end the saga.  This is a very charitable finale, as he does so tenderly, and as he is no longer a part of it.  The chapter is rife with excellent jokes and wordplay, but there's a distance between reader and action, surely drawn--intentionally or not--by Carroll's own increasing distance from the growing Alice.  One detail I'm a big fan of, and regarding the relationship's terminus, is that he sends her off with fireworks!

By the way, I mentioned earlier that Carroll never wrote poetry in anapests.  Well, this chapter proves me wrong.


Chapters 10 and 11:

It was at the suggestion of another of Carroll's young friends that the Red Queen turn into the black kitten, Kitty.  Further, there's an article called "Alice Through the Zodiac," in which one Everett Bleiler points out how the twelve chapters align with signs of the zodiac, including the Tweedles as Gemini, the Goat on the train as Capricorn, and so on.  "True" Carrollians (a club to which I can't claim to be member, though not necessarily for this) believe Carroll simply wanted twelve chapters, as he never displayed interest in the Zodiac.

Chapter 12:

I'm interested by Kitty, the black kitten, who, like all cats, only says the same thing, *purr*, no matter what the conversation.  Of course this isn't any kind of a conversation; there must be contrast for dialog.  In my personal experience with children and teens (as a father and teacher, respectively), this isn't uncommon, especially when the kid in question is of one of the following three types (though, really, this goes equally for adults): obstinate of mood, an idiot, of extremely heightened emotion (very happy, very sad, very angry, etcetera).  I wonder who, if anyone, the little black kitten may be at this point.

Bearing in mind the fact that it was Carroll, not Alice, who wrote the book, as well as Carroll's relationship with and love for the girl, and whatever psychoses he may or may not have had toward her, what do you think of the "serious" question Alice posits to Kitty?

Through The Looking Glass XI -- THE WASP IN A WIG

If you haven't yet read "The Wasp in a Wig" episode, and/or the publishers of your edition didn't deign to include it, read it here.

1. A male wasp in an interesting choice for character.  The males are sting-less and impotent, especially compared to females, and so with chess kings and queens--except chess pieces are not so universally loathed as, well, wasps.
2. It's unlikely that Carroll is the Wasp, at least by intention, like he was the Knight, as this Wasp is but a lower-class drone (indicated through his language, his species and gender, and even to a degree his wig) and Carroll prided himself on being a Victorian gentleman.  Martin Gardner posits that the Wasp acts as a ventriloquist's puppet here, voicing Carroll, as the animal's character and age, both particularly significant if taken in their close contextual proximity to the White Knight, so closely resemble Carroll and other characters whom he's "inhabited" through the book.
3. PUN (one among so many, of course, but this one perhaps more subtle than the coming comb): This wasp has the newspaper--the paper, paper being, of course, the substance employed for the crafting of a wasp's nest.
4. Yellow is a classic symbol for age.
5. Word play: a lack of neck-bending, stiff-neck, and conceit.  Will Alice soon have the stiff-neck of a chess queen to go with the typically queenly conceit?  
6. Contrast Alice's attitude going into the episode with that of her leaving at its conclusion.

The most important question is this:  Should the chapter have been suppressed at all?  Did Carroll ere, permitting as he did Tenniel to talk him out of its inclusion?

THE WASP IN A WIG -- full text, suppressed from THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS

Just before the mass of asterisks that indicate Alice's jump into the eighth and final rank where Alice will assume her queenly crown, Carroll once intended this episode to be included.

“I hope it encouraged him,” she said, as she turned to run down the hill:  “and now for the last brook, and to be a Queen!  How grand it sounds!”  A very few steps brought her to the edge of the book.  [‘THE WASP IN A WIG’ HERE]  “The Eighth Square at last!” she cried….

It's generally believed that Tenniel's argument with the episode (both artistic and contextual) was the primary impetus for its removal (and, really, how attached to it could Carroll have been if he let it go?), and critics generally believe the book is better without it (remember also that Carroll likely had not begun the revision process for this episode; he regularly had text put to printing plates before editing them).  I hope you'll have a more open mind.  Its import is not its dubious contribution to the general plot, insofar as plot is a series of events, but in demonstrating Alice's maturity and grace--her arc of character--perhaps appropriately fitting/preparing her for the combined religious and patriotic significance of a crowning, even if it means the final and needful separation of Alice and Carroll.

As you read, note the contrast of age between Alice and the Wasp, and remember that at the time of this book's publication, Carroll was twice as old as Alice: he was 40; she was going on 20.

The Wasp in a Wig

...and she was just going to spring over, when she heard a deep sigh, which seemed to come from the wood behind her.

"There’s somebody very unhappy there," she thought, looking anxiously back to see what was the matter. Something like a very old man (only that his face was more like a wasp) was sitting on the ground, leaning against a tree, all huddled up together, and shivering as if he were very cold.

"I don’t think I can be of any use to him," was Alice’s first thought, as she turned to spring over the brook: - "but I’ll just ask him what’s the matter," she added, checking herself on the very edge. "If I once jump over, everything will change, and then I can’t help him."

So she went back to the Wasp - rather unwillingly, for she was very anxious to be a queen.

"Oh, my old bones, my old bones!" he was grumbling as Alice came up to him.

"It’s rheumatism, I should think," Alice said to herself, and she stooped over him, and said very kindly, "I hope you’re not in much pain?"

The Wasp only shook his shoulders, and turned his head away. "Ah deary me!" he said to himself.

"Can I do anything for you?" Alice went on. "Aren’t you rather cold here?"

"How you go on!" the Wasp said in a peevish tone. "Worrity, Worrity! There never was such a child!"

Alice felt rather offended at this answer, and was very nearly walking on and leaving him, but she thought to herself "Perhaps it’s only pain that makes him so cross." So she tried once more.

"Won’t you let me help you round to the other side? You’ll be out of the cold wind there."

The Wasp took her arm, and let her help him round the tree, but when he got settled down again he only said, as before, "Worrity, worrity! Can’t you leave a body alone?"

"Would you like me to read you a bit of this?" Alice went on, as she picked up a newspaper which had been lying at his feet.

"You may read it if you’ve a mind to," the Wasp said, rather sulkily. "Nobody’s hindering you, that I know of."

So Alice sat down by him, and spread out the paper on her knees, and began. "Latest News. The Exploring Party have made another tour in the Pantry, and have found five new lumps of white sugar, large and in fine condition. In coming back - "

"Any brown sugar?" the Wasp interrupted.

Alice hastily ran her eyes down the paper and said "No. It says nothing about brown."

"No brown sugar!" grumbled the Wasp. "A nice exploring party!"

"In coming back," Alice went on reading, "they found a lake of treacle. The banks of the lake were blue and white, and looked like china. While tasting the treacle, they had a sad accident: two of their party were engulped - "

"Where what?" the Wasp asked in a very cross voice.

"En-gulph-ed," Alice repeated, dividing the word in syllables.

"There’s no such word in the language!" said the Wasp.

"It’s in the newspaper, though," Alice said a little timidly.

"Let’s stop it here!" said the Wasp, fretfully turning away his head.

Alice put down the newspaper. "I’m afraid you’re not well," she said in a soothing tone. "Can’t I do anything for you?"

"It’s all along of the wig," the Wasp said in a much gentler voice.

"Along of the wig?" Alice repeated, quite pleased to find that he was recovering his temper.

"You’d be cross too, if you’d a wig like mine," the Wasp went on. "They jokes, at one. And they worrits one. And then I gets cross. And I gets cold. And I gets under a tree. And I gets a yellow handkerchief. And I ties up my face - as at the present."

Alice looked pityingly at him. "Tying up the face is very good for the toothache," she said.

"And it’s very good for the conceit," added the Wasp.

Alice didn’t catch the word exactly. "Is that a kind of toothache?" she asked.

The Wasp considered a little. "Well, no," he said: "it’s when you hold up your head -so - without bending your neck."

"Oh, you mean stiff-neck," said Alice.

The Wasp said "That’s a new-fangled name. They called it conceit in my time."

"Conceit isn’t a disease at all," Alice remarked.

"It is, though," said the Wasp: "wait till you have it, and then you’ll know. And when you catches it, just try tying a yellow handkerchief round your face. It’ll cure you in no time!"

He untied the handkerchief as he spoke, and Alice looked at his wig in great surprise. It was bright yellow like the handkerchief, and all tangled and tumbled about like a heap of sea-weed. "You could make your wig much neater," she said, "if only you had a comb."

"What, you’re a Bee, are you?" the Wasp said, looking at her with more interest. "And you’ve got a comb. Much honey?"

"It isn’t that kind," Alice hastily explained. "It’s to comb hair with - your wig’s sovery rough, you know."

"I’ll tell you how I came to wear it," the Wasp said. "When I was young, you know, my ringlets used to wave - "

A curious idea came into Alice’s head. Almost every one she had met had repeated poetry to her, and she thought she would try if the Wasp couldn’t do it too. "Would you mind saying it in rhyme?" she asked very politely.

"It aint what I’m used to," said the Wasp: "however I’ll try; wait a bit." He was silent for a few moments, and then began again -

"When I was young, my ringlets waved
And curled and crinkled on my head:
And then they said ‘You should be shaved,
And wear a yellow wig instead.’

But when I followed their advice,
And they had noticed the effect,
They said I did not look so nice
As they had ventured to expect.

They said it did not fit, and so
It made me look extremely plain:
But what was I to do, you know?
My ringlets would not grow again.

So now that I am old and grey,
And all my hair is nearly gone,
They take my wig from me and say
‘How can you put such rubbish on?’

And still, whenever I appear,
They hoot at me and call me ‘Pig!’
And that is why they do it, dear,
Because I wear a yellow wig."

"I’m very sorry for you," Alice said heartily: "and I think if your wig fitted a little better, they wouldn’t tease you quite so much."

"Your wig fits very well," the Wasp murmured, looking at her with an expression of admiration: "it’s the shape of your head as does it. Your jaws aint well shaped, though - I should think you couldn’t bite well?"

Alice began with a little scream of laughing, which she turned into a cough as well as she could. At last she managed to say gravely, "I can bite anything I want,"

"Not with a mouth as small as that," the Wasp persisted. "If you was a-fighting, now - could you get hold of the other one by the back of the neck?"

"I’m afraid not," said Alice.

"Well, that’s because your jaws are too short," the Wasp went on: "but the top of your head is nice and round." He took off his own wig as he spoke, and stretched out one claw towards Alice, as if he wished to do the same for her, but she kept out of reach, and would not take the hint. So he went on with his criticisms.

"Then, your eyes - they’re too much in front, no doubt. One would have done as well as two, if you must have them so close - "

Alice did not like having so many personal remarks made on her, and as the Wasp had quite recovered his spirits, and was getting very talkative, she thought she might safely leave him. "I think I must be going on now," she said. "Good-bye."

"Good-bye, and thank-ye," said the Wasp, and Alice tripped down the hill again, quite pleased that she had gone back and given a few minutes to making the poor old creature comfortable.

Through the Looking Glass X -- chapter 8: FAREWELL, WHITE KNIGHT

1. "I've a great mind to go and wake [the Red King], and see what happens," says Alice, shortly after a very Inception-like moment.  What's important here, I think, is Alice's acknowledgment that she hopes it's her dream, not the King's.
2. While Carroll is fairly transparently present in the Red King, he is even more obviously embodied in the White Knight, which, by all evidence, was an intentional characterization by Carroll (from Martin Gardner's notes): "Jeffrey Stern, in his article 'Carroll Identifies Himself at Last' (Jabberwocky, Summer/Autumn 1990), describes a game board hand-drawn by Carroll that was recently discovered.  The nature of the frame is unknown, but on the underside of the cardboard sheet Carroll had written 'Olive Butler, from the White Knight.  Nov. 21, 1892.'  'So, at last,' Stern comments, 'we know for certain the Carroll did portray himself as the White Knight.'"
3. It makes sense to ask, if this is indeed a game of chess being played out, who it is controlling the pieces.  Is it the Red King who is dreaming it?  Is it a meeting of two dreams--that of Alice, who is here a white pawn, together with that of the Red King, and therefor representing indeed the two sides of the board?  Well, the puppet-like, Punch-and-Judy behavior of the Red and White Knights may indicate otherwise--that there is indeed but one player--one puppet master--playing for both sides.  How, if at all, does this play against Alice's hope for this to be her dream?  Consider also that while Wonderland was written specifically for Alice Liddell, Looking-Glass bears more indicators that it was composed for reasons personal to Carroll.
4. What significance is there to the White Knight's escorting Alice to assume her queen-ship?
5. Aside from the "proof" of Jeffrey Stern, what more immediate, though more circumstantial, evidence is there to indicate Carroll's caricature in the White Knight?  Along these lines, and essentially invisible by reading the text alone, Carroll was something of an amateur inventor; also, contrast the White Knights treatment of Alice against her treatment at the hands of pretty much all of the other characters in the two books.
6. A.A. Milne (1952) suggests that the horse's ankle spikes inspired "The Hunting of the Snark," as the Knight intends them "to guard against the bites of sharks," and so "the compositor in his first proof made the very easy substitution of an 'n' for an 'h', and set Carroll wondering what the bites of snarks were like ... wondering until inevitably The Hunting of the Snark followed, which is the way such things get written."
7. A further suggestion that the White Knight is the true master of Looking-Glass House is the load of his pack and horse, which recall a variety of moments throughout the two books.  Can you spot and identify them?
8. "Of all the strange things that Alice saw in her journey Through The Looking-Glass, this was the one that she always remembered most clearly."
9. It's possible that the old man on the gate is a reflection--and unforgettable by him--of the White Knight, who, of course, is a reflection--and unforgettable by Alice--of Lewis Carroll.
10. "...but you didn't cry so much as I thought you would."  This chapter, also the longest, is, I think, reflective (like so many other things within and, by nature of its title, without it) of the underlying tone of the whole book, as put by Donald Rackin: that of "a love between a child all potential, freedom, flux, and growing up and a man all impotence, imprisonment, stasis, and falling down."  And when she finally leaves him, not so sad as he might have hoped, and even perhaps free of him, she is a queen.

Before moving on to chapter 9, we will examine the episode "The Wasp in a Wig."

Through the Looking Glass VIII -- chapter 6: THE NIHILIST PHILOLOGIST

Discussion of the Alice books here have tended periodically to indicate nihilism.  Humpty Dumpty is a perfect example of one who, regardless of what he professes, is a nihilist in practice (so far as I understand the given -ism), though his disregard for any established order seems most consistently targeted at the rules of semantics:  Humpty Dumpty, the Nihilist Philologist.

For the most part, I haven't looked too closely at the nihilism of Carroll (if you haven't followed the discussions from previous posts, you may want to take a look at the nihilism of The Cosby Show, here, at McSweeney's, for a ridiculous point of comparison), because it hasn't fit, or so it seemed to me at the time, with my whole selfish reason for this read-through.  Well, I'm not so sure I've been right to neglect it (though I'm not yet wholly convinced otherwise yet, either).

So here's the question (and I'm leaving it simple in order to invite the broadest possible range of responses):

Based on the Alice books, what, if articulated,

would be Carroll's stance on nihilism?

Aside from that, the substance of this chapter has rather little to do with my goal.  There are, however, some interesting points yet to be made (to which I'm happy to invite more):

1. Is Humpty, as an egg, a continuation of the egg from the end of the previous chapter, or a new entity entirely (notice that except for his condescension, Alice still isn't able to reach him)?
2. Humpty's frequent use of the word "pride" only emphasizes what is already evident in his nature.  Take a look at Proverbs 16:18 (thanks, Mr. Gardner).
3. "One ca'n't [help growing older], but two can.  With proper assistance, you might have left off at seven."  Truly the darkest allusion to death of the books.
4. Humpty's claim that words mean whatever the speaker/writer wants isn't that far from the truth.  Or is it?  Words are only representations or signs for things, not the things themselves.  There's a huge discussion here, but I'm going to keep it simple and quote Roger Holmes' article "The Philosopher's Alice in Wonderland" (thanks again, M. Gardner): "May we pay our words extra, or is this the stuff that propaganda is made of?  Do we have an obligation to past usage?  In one sense words are our masters, or communication would be impossible.  In another we are the masters; otherwise there could be no poetry."
5. Joyce's Finnegans Wake takes a lot from, or refers often to, the Alice books, not least of which is the potential import of nonsense.  Finnegans Wake as a whole is perhaps most apt for comparison, however, to this chapter, as Joyce takes complete liberty with language of this book in his writing.  One word in particular, as it recalls our big egghead here: Bothallchoractorschumminaroundgansumuminarumdrumstrumtruminahumptadumpwaultopoofoolooderamaunsturnup
6. A possible place of inspiration for Humpty Dumpty's recitation of, perhaps, Carroll's worst poem:

Summer Days

Wathen Marks Wilks Call
In summer, when the days were long, 
We walk’d, two friends, in field and wood; 
Our heart was light, our step was strong, 
And life lay round us, fair as good, 
In summer, when the days were long. 

We stray’d from morn till evening came, 
We gather’d flowers, and wove us crowns; 
We walk’d mid poppies red as flame, 
Or sat upon the yellow downs, 
And always wish’d our life the same. 

In summer, when the days were long, 
We leap’d the hedgerow, cross’d the brook; 
And still her voice flow’d forth in song, 
Or else she read some graceful book, 
In summer, when the days were long. 

And then we sat beneath the trees, 
With shadows lessening in the noon; 
And in the sunlight and the breeze 
We revell’d, many a glorious June, 
While larks were singing o’er the leas. 

In summer, when the days were long, 
We pluck’d wild strawberries, ripe and red, 
Or feasted, with no grace but song, 
On golden nectar, snow-white bread, 
In summer, when the days were long. 

We lov’d, and yet we knew it not, 
For loving seem’d like breathing then; 
We found a heaven in every spot; 
Saw angels, too, in all good men, 
And dream’d of gods in grove and grot. 

In summer, when the days are long, 
Alone I wander, muse alone; 
I see her not, but that old song 
Under the fragrant wind is blown, 
In summer, when the days are long. 

Alone I wander in the wood, 
But one fair spirit hears my sighs; 
And half I see the crimson hood, 
The radiant hair, the calm glad eyes, 
That charm’d me in life’s summer mood. 

In summer, when the days are long, 
I love her as I lov’d of old; 
My heart is light, my step is strong, 
For love brings back those hours of gold, 
In summer, when the days are long.

MORE ACCIDENTAL "POETRY"

I had an extra half-hour of prep-time available today, and so thought I'd try the random poetry thing again, only this time with just one book: my The Annotated Alice, the Definitive Edition.  Using only Carroll's words, and randomly generating page, line, and word numbers from which to start my word count for each "phrase."

Here are the parameters and their results, all randomly selected by the generator at random.org:

number of phrases (10-20):               12

words per phrase (3-5):                       5

Wonderland (1&3/5); page (7-127); line (1-38); word (1-10)

Looking-Glass (2&4/5); page (133-274); line (1-38); word (1-10)

"Wasp in a Wig" (5/5); page (293-298); line (1-38); word (1-10)

	book	page	line	word	phrase
1	4: LG	175	4	5	body is a crust, and
2	2: LG	229	33	6	a fabulous monster! the Unicorn
3	4: LG	158	14	3	you! cried the Tiger-lily, waving
4	5: WW	297	29	10	Wasp went on: but the
5	1: WL	62	5	8	be listening, so she went
6	5: WW	294	28	8	spread out the paper on
7	2: LG	198	10	1	What is the matter? she said
8	4: LG	188	8	2	he ate as many as
9	3: WL	9	24	1	rabbit with either a waistcoat-pocket
10	1: WL	113	27	3	at the Hatter, who turned
11	3: WL	23	3	7	the great puzzle!  And she
12	5: WW	283	23	3	only shook his shoulders, and

What are you able to come up with if we allow that these phrases be organized in any order, so long as the 5 words for each remain contiguous?