philip_k_dick_-_the_man_in_the_high_castle

that proper to say? Admission that his interest lay in book's modishness. Perhaps that was lowplace.
He did not know, and yet he felt that it was. 'One cannot judge by book being best seller,' he
said. 'We all know that. Many best sellers are terrible trash. This, however — ' He faltered.
Betty said, 'Most true. Average taste really deplorable.'
'As in music,' Paul said. 'No interest in authentic American folk jazz, as example. Robert, are you
fond of say Bunk Johnson and Kid Ory and the like? Early Dixieland jazz? I have record library of
old such music, original Genet recordings.'
Robert said, 'Afraid I know little about Negro music.' They did not look exactly pleased at his
remark. 'I prefer classical. Bach and Beethoven.' Surely that was acceptable. He felt now a bit of
resentment. Was he supposed to deny the great masters of European music, the timeless classics in
favor of New Orleans jazz from the honky-tonks and bistros of the Negro quarter?
'Perhaps if I play selection by New Orleans Rhythm Kings,' Paul began, starting from the room,
but Betty gave him a warning look. He hesitated, shrugged.
'Dinner almost ready,' she said.
Returning, Paul once more seated himself. A little sulkily, Robert thought, he murmured, 'Jazz
from New Orleans most authentic American folk music there is. Originated on this continent. All
else came from Europe, such as corny English-style lute ballads.'
'This is perpetual argument between us,' Betty said, smiling at Robert. 'I do not share his love of
original jazz.'
Still holding the copy of The Grasshopper Lies Heavy, Robert said, 'What sort of alternate
present does this book describe?'
Betty, after a moment, said, 'One in which Germany and Japan lost the war.'
They were all silent.
'Time to eat,' Betty said, sliding to her feet. 'Please come, two hungry gentleman businessmen.'
She cajoled Robert and Paul to the dining table, already set with white tablecloth, silver, china,
huge rough napkins in what Robert recognized as Early American bone napkin rings. The silver,
too, was sterling silver American. The cups and saucers were Royal Albert, deep blue and yellow.
Very exceptional; he could not help glancing at them with professional admiration.
The plates were not American. They appeared to be Japanese; he could not tell, it being beyond
his field.
'That is Imari porcelain.' Paul said, perceiving his interest. 'From Arita. Considered a first-place
product. Japan.'
They seated themselves.
'Coffee?' Betty asked Robert.
'Yes,' he said. 'Thanks.'
'Toward end of meal,' she said, going to get the serving cart.
Soon they were all eating. Robert found the meal delicious. She was quite an exceptional cook.
The salad in particular pleased him. Avocados, artichoke heart, some kind of blue cheese dressing .
. . thank God they had not presented him with a Japanese meal, the dishes of mixed greens and
meats of which he had eaten so much since the war.
And the unending seafoods. He had gotten so that he could no longer abide shrimp or any other
shellfish.
'I would like to know,' Robert said, 'what he supposes it would be like in world where Germany
and Japan lost the war.'
Neither Paul nor Betty answered for a time. Then Paul said at last, 'Very complicated
differences. Better to read the book. It would spoil it for you, possibly, to hear.'