161
" Men can imagine their own deaths, they can see them coming, and the mere though of impending death acts like an aphrodisiac. A dog or rabbit doesn't behave like that. Take birds -- in a lean season they cut down on the eggs, or they won't mate at all. They put their energy into staying alive themselves until times get better. But human beings hope they can stick their souls into someone else, some new version of themselves, and live on forever.
As a species were doomed by hope, then?
You could call it hope. That, or desperation.
But we're doomed without hope, as well, said Jimmy.
Only as individuals, said Crake cheerfully. "
― Margaret Atwood , Oryx and Crake (MaddAddam, #1)
165
" When did the body first set out on its own adventures? Snowman thinks; after having ditched its old travelling companions, the mind and the soul, for whom it had once been considered a mere corrupt vessel or else a puppet acting out their dramas for them, or else bad company, leading the other two astray. it must have got tired of the soul’s constant nagging and whining and the anxiety-driven intellectual web-spinning of the mind, distracting it whenever it was getting its teeth into something juicy or its fingers into something good. It had dumped the other two back there somewhere, leaving them stranded in some damp sanctuary or stuffy lecture hall while it made a beeline for the topless bars, and it had dumped culture along with them: music and painting and poetry and plays. Sublimation, all of it; nothing but sublimation, according to the body. Why not cut to the chase?
But the body had its own cultural forms. It had its own art. Executions were its tragedies, pornography was its romance. "
― Margaret Atwood , Oryx and Crake (MaddAddam, #1)
167
" Every time the women appear, Snowman is astonished all over again. They're every known colour from the deepest black to whitest white, they're various heights, but each one of them is admirably proportioned. Each is sound of tooth, smooth of skin. No ripples of fat around their waists, no bulges, no dimpled orange-skin cellulite on their thighs. No body hair, no bushiness. They look like retouched fashion photos, or ads for a high priced workout program.
Maybe this is the reason that these women arouse in Snowman not even the faintest stirrings of lust. It was the thumbprints of human imperfection that used to move him, the flaws in the design: the lopsided smile, the wart next to the navel, the mole, the bruise. These were the places he'd single out, putting his mouth on them. Was it consolation he'd had in mind, kissing the wound to make it better? There was always an element of melancholy involved in sex. After his indiscriminate adolescence he'd preferred sad women, delicate and breakable, women who'd been messed up and who needed him. He'd liked to comfort them, stroke them gently at first, reassure them. Make them happier, if only for a moment. Himself too, of course; that was the payoff. A grateful woman would go the extra mile. But these new women are neither lopsided nor sad: they're placid, like animated statues. They leave him chilled. "
― Margaret Atwood , Oryx and Crake (MaddAddam, #1)
171
" Now maybe I wouldn't do it, but I was a child then," said Oryx more softly. "Why are you so angry?"
"I don't buy it," said Jimmy. Where was her rage, how far down was it buried, what did he have to do to dig it up?
"You don't buy what?"
"Your whole fucking story. All this sweetness and acceptance and crap."
"If you don't want to buy that, Jimmy," said Oryx, looking at him tenderly, "what is it that you would like to buy instead?" (167) "
― Margaret Atwood , Oryx and Crake (MaddAddam, #1)
173
" …Homo sapiens doesn’t seem able to cut himself off at the supply end. He’s one of the few species that doesn’t limit reproduction in the face of dwindling resources. In other words - and up to a point, of course - the less we eat, the more we fuck.’
‘How do you account for that?’ said Jimmy.
‘Imagination,’ said Crake, ‘Men can imagine their own deaths, they can see them coming, and the mere thought of impending death acts like an aphrodisiac. A dog or a rabbit doesn’t behave like that. Take birds - in a lean season they cut down on the eggs, or they don’t mate at all. They put their energy into staying alive themselves until times get better. But human beings hope they can stick their souls into someone else, some new version of themselves, and live on forever.’
‘As a species we’re doomed by hope then?’
‘You could call it hope. That, or desperation.’
‘But we’re doomed without hope, as well,’ said Jimmy.
‘Only as individuals,’ said Crake cheerfully.
‘Well, it sucks.’
‘Jimmy, grow up.’
Crake wasn’t the first person who ever said that to Jimmy. "
― Margaret Atwood , Oryx and Crake (MaddAddam, #1)
174
" The male frog, in mating season," said Crake, "makes as much noise as it can. The females are attracted to the male frog with the biggest, deepest voice because it suggests a more powerful frog, one with superior genes. Small male frogs - it's been documented - discover that if they position themselves in empty drainpipes, the pipe acts as a voice amplifier, and the small frog appears much larger than it really is."
"So?"
"So that's what art is, for the artist," said Crake. "An empty drainpipe. An amplifier. A stab at getting laid."
"Your analogy falls down when it comes to female artists," said Jimmy. "They're not in it to get laid. They'd gain no biological advantage from amplifying themselves, since potential mates would be deterred rather than attracted by this sort of amplification. Men aren't frogs, they don't want women who are ten times bigger than them."
"Female artists are biologically confused," said Crake. "
― Margaret Atwood , Oryx and Crake (MaddAddam, #1)
176
" Feathers," he says.
They ask this question at least once a week. He gives the same answer. Even over such a short time — two months, three? He's lost count — they've accumulated a stock of lore, of conjecture about him: Snowman was once a bird but he's forgotten how to fly and the rest of his feathers fell out, and so he is cold and he needs a second skin, and he has to wrap himself up. No: he's cold because he eats fish, and fish are cold. No: he wraps himself up because he's missing his man thing, and he doesn't want us to see. That's why he won't go swimming. Snowman has wrinkles because he once lived underwater and it wrinkled up his skin. Snowman is sad because the others like him flew away over the sea, and now he is all alone. "
― Margaret Atwood , Oryx and Crake (MaddAddam, #1)
178
" We offered her flowers and signalled to her with our penises, but she did not respond with joy.'
'The men with the extra skins didn't look happy. They looked angry.'
'We went towards them to greet them, but they ran away.'
Snowman can imagine. The sight of these preternaturally calm, well-muscled men advancing en masse, singing their unusual music, green eyes glowing, blue penises waving in unison, both hands outstretched like extras in a zombie film, would have to have been alarming. "
― Margaret Atwood , Oryx and Crake (MaddAddam, #1)
179
" You cynical shit," he told himself. Then he started to weep.
"Don't be so fucking sentimental," Crake used to tell him. But why not? Why shouldn't he be sentimental? It wasn't as if there was anyone around to question his taste.
Once in a while he considered killing himself-it seemed mandatory-but somehow he didn't have the required energy. Anyway, killing yourself was something you did for an audience, as on nitee-nitee.com. Under the circumstances, the here and now, it was a gesture that lacked elegance. He could imagine Crake's amused contempt, and the disappointment of Oryx: But Jimmy! Why do you give up? You have a job to do! You promised, remember?
Perhaps he failed to take seriously his own despair. "
― Margaret Atwood , Oryx and Crake (MaddAddam, #1)