Pan-Transitive Literature
I’m going to make millions with this. If you’re not sitting down, please do so now. And if you are sitting down, please stand up and then sit down, because you should really sit down for this.
Go ahead. I’ll wait. No, it’s no trouble.
I’ve invented a new mode of outsider literature. I’m about to grab the stuffy, conservative college of literature by its hairy and wrinkled ears and rock it’s freakin’ face off. The folks at the New York Times Book Review had better hope they brought an extra pair of underwear to work.
Okay. You’re sitting down, right? If you’re not sitting down, I’m not liable for any injuries incurred. I won’t be held responsible. Let’s just leave it at that.
Right. Okay. Yes. Here it is. Yes:
PAN-TRANSITIVE LIT
Whoa, are you okay there? Should I call an ambu–no? Good. That’s a sport. Walk it off. Okay. I wish you’d just sat down, but–right. Okay. It was your decision. I respect that. But maybe I should just stop for now.
No? You’re sure? Okay. Grab onto something, then, because I’m gonna say it again:
Pan-Transitive Literature. I see the questions in your eyes, the mad rush of excitement; I’ll explain.
The traditional (did I say traditional? Oops. I meant obsolete!) method of deploying verbs has been tied up in a short-sighted, pedantastic notion of transitivity — roughly, the idea that this verb takes a direct object, while that verb doesn’t, this one takes an oblique object via a preposition, that one can’t take that kind of preposition…
You see where I’m going with this: there are rules, rules, rules, and we’d better not break ‘em if we know what’s good for us.
Gee. Thanks. Dad.
Pan-Transitive Lit is all about breaking the rules. It’s about creativity. Pan-Transitive Lit looks The Man square in the face, and says, “hey, man, whatever!”
Let me give you an example. The verb breathe. It’s a good verb. We all do it. Everybody likes to breathe. Breathing is awesome, right? But there are plenty of old fuddie-duddies who will tell you that there’s something wrong with “breathe” — it can’t take a non-mass noun as a direct object. Sure, it can take mass nouns (”John breathed the air”), and it can take no object (”John breathed”), but that’s it. Right?
Wrong! In PTL, we don’t know the word can’t. We’re throwing out the old rules! In fact, the only rule we need is this: can’t ain’t a word! Check this out:
“John breathed Tammy.”
Exciting, huh? That’s the power of PTL. That’s the excitement of pure, unbridled pan-transitivity. Can you smell that? That’s the odor of the future, baby. Take in the ozone! Sniff this short but lightning-hot passage of Pan-Transitive Lit in action:
John Powerton opened the door and said. The room grew silent of talking. Looked back at him and threw a knife him. John caught at it.
“You’re olding, McSith. You’ve rustied your skills.”
McSith scowled John. “I think of that you should just shut, Powerton.”
John laughed it and looked onto the knife he was holding on of. He twisted him and let it fly in McSith, pinning to the wall. McSith got coughing, and had a death. Turned away of the corpse and left, whispering behind his breath:
“No, McSith. I do think on you are the one who shoulding shut.”
What can I say. Welcome to the new. Welcome to Pan-Transitive Literature. Buckle up: the world is about to start bettering.