Cars: A Romantic Manifesto
“. . . a seething admixture of erudition, despair, hopefulness, realism, romanticism, contempt, and humility. And also a foundational affirmation of the redemptive potential of love.”
Cars is a journey to Shangri-La, Goethe’s Germany, the Sweden of Willie Volvo and his Princess, the Poet’s Path along the picturesque Neckar River, and the America of apple pie and Chevrolet— in search of sanity, ecological salvation, true love, and a good car.
. . . As I wandered dejectedly along the sidewalk in front of the Golden Nugget, I noticed that a car was slowly accompanying me. The street was strangely quiet, a soft glow outlining all the parked and passing automobiles. I knew I was having a vision: this was an avenue in heaven. The vehicle slowly rolling beside me was a pink Cadillac.
There he was: the sequined white shirt-jacket with the high collar, an arm resting on the door’s ridge—Elvis himself.
“Hey man,” he said. “Been lookin’ for you.”
“Sir? Me?”
“What d’you want to do with your life, boy?”
“Translate Goethe, Sir. Compose the definitive English version of Faust.”
“I know it, man. Why ain’t you doin’ that right now?”
“I need to support myself, Sir. Translating doesn’t pay money.”
“What do you need money for, man?”
“Well, to be honest, Sir, I want to get a car like this one.”
“Go get it, man. But remember.”
“Remember what, Sir?”
“Keep the faith. . . Tell ‘em you’ve seen the King.” Then I saw the famous Elvis sneer. “That’ll fetch ‘em every time, boy. But remember that one thing.”
