A postmodern genealogy. Sullivan without end.
The great Book of Sullivan was last seen on a foggy morning in Western Ireland, 1802, at the site of the crumbled ruins of the castle of Ardea, a soggy pile of shredded sheepskins. What were its secrets?
The general collapse of psychiatry and psychology invites the revival of older forms of character typology in which family history, morality, and bloodlines predominate.
Anticipating this trend I began several years ago to collect stories about people named Sullivan. I became a wandering collector of tales. I made late night phone calls, studied blood specimens, visited a junkyard in Nevada; I measured heads, spent a week in Butte. I walked through the ould sod in County Cork, trysted with the daughter of the Spanish king at Castletown Bearehaven, seeking what post-modernists call the narrative metaphor. Later, I thought, I would begin an old man's task of classification and synthesis. I wrote the first chapter of a book on my encounter with the legendary Cessair Sullivan.
The Internet, infinite and maybe eternal, suggested expansion of the project.
Since this is a narrabase, you can and should participate. By sending me your Sullivan stories. You can do so right now by clicking HERE.
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If you are a social science martyr you can always check out some Sullivan statistics. Or go directly now to
The Book of Sullivan
Sullivan! Sullivan! Sullivan! copyright 1995 Kirribili Press. Would you like to do some Sullivan research and make a contribution to Sullivan culture? You can do so by sending us an email by clicking HERE.