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Lysenko Is Right

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James Fyfe

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“Dialectical Materialism teaches us that life originated on earth as a result of the process of development of matter. Nature should be considered not as a state of rest and immobility, stagnation and immutability, but as a state of continuous movement and change. All phenomena should be studied from the standpoint of their continuous renewal and development, their arising and dying away.”

Dialectical MaterialismSoviet Science
Book:The Origin of Cells
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“With the downtown of Fort Wayne nearly abandoned, my mother would weave the car down one-way streets heading west, then east, featuring display after display of historical holiday cheer. Our official tour began at the bread factory, where a mechanical wheel of never-ending sliced bread actually never stopped slicing, and the smell of hot flour, sugar, and yeast entwined itself with Christmas. The factory would be decorated with blinking lights cascading from just below the perpetually spinning bread wheel, to what I assumed was the ground beneath us. We'd pass Santa and his reindeer, bigger than life and all lit up on the side of PNC Bank, and he would wink at me. I knew it was a trick of the light, but I winked back just in case the real Santa might know that I didn't. The drive was nearly over when we got to the bright green wreath on the plaza, but this was also the spot where my mom would park and let us out. All three of us would jump towards the wreath that was mounted much too high for any person to read. We didn't think we could reach it either but that didn't stop us from trying.”

Fort Wayne
Book:Somebody's Daughter
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“She returned to the kitchen, where she'd been making sugared flowers. Mint leaves, tiny violets and old-fashioned rose petals, heavy with perfume, lay on the counter. Very gently she dipped each one into the stiff egg whites, then in confectioners' sugar, and then placed them on the baking sheet, which she put in the warm oven, the door ajar. It gave the room the scent of a garden, heady and sweet. Sabine had planned to store the sweets in canning jars- there were still a few gaskets and lids left- and save them for cake. When she was a child, her grand-mère had once made her a Saint-Honoré for her birthday. It was the most wondrous cake in the world. Not a cake at all but a composition of tiny puffs of choux pastry filled with vanilla cream, very much like profiteroles, but molded together with caramel and covered with whipped chantilly cream fresh from the dairy. Her grand-mère decorated it with candied flowers and mint leaves. Sabine never had anything like it before or since and suddenly wanted to make that cake again.”

FlowersFrenchPastriesCreamsGrand MereSabine Monte Carlo
Book:White Truffles in Winter
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“My phone buzzes in my shirt pocket, and Frank takes a step back to let me answer it. I’ve got another text from Jem. What does the breast part look like? I think I’ve got it upside-down. “The fuck?” Frank says. “He’s talking about the turkey.” “Oh. Jesus. I mean…good.” “Jem knows what human breasts look like.” Frank shudders. “I can’t deal with this,” he mutters and stalks away.”

FrankWilla
Book:Love Among Pigeons
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