Everything in life is connected, so say the String Theorists – not a soul-patch sporting violinist and his lip, ear, nose, tongue, and navel pierced harp-playing buddy, but a cadre of cranial-advanced physicists who believe that the fundamental constituents of reality are strings of extremely small scale (possibly Planck length, about 10-35 m) that vibrate at specific resonant frequencies.
Confusing? For sure.
But what is clear, at least to me, is that there is some sort of connecting vibration out there, and I’m not talking about Shakira’s latest hip-shaking video. For instance, in homage to Halloween, I recently reread the Robert Louis Stevenson classic horror tale “Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.” Trust me, there is something profoundly illuminating in revisiting the school-required reads of our childhood. Over the past few years, I’ve ventured into the Hoboken Public Library many a time with determined effort to pick up something written within the Kevin Federline era, only to walk away with tomes from the Victorian age and beyond. Whether it be Washington Irving’s lampooning ghost-story, “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow,” or Jonathan Swift’s religion-skewering Gulliver’s Travels, the lens of age has alllowed me to pluck out new meaning in the writing.
Which brings me back to connection. Because during the week I toted the “Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde” around in my knapsack, a strange phenomena began to occur: I couldn’t escape mention of the split-headed duo outside the pages. On the evening news, an anchor described a disgraced politician as a “Jekyll- and Hyde-type personality.” In the tabloids, (yes, I read the Star), reports came that emaciated Nicole Ritchie had fainted at the Hollywood hot spot “Hyde.” And the Cartoon Network, which I always have trouble avoiding, aired footage of those maniacal magpies Heckle and Jeckle.
But even more than an acute awareness of how frequently the Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde name was being bandied about, I began to see how important the theme it represented (the dual forces of good and evil that dwell within each human psyche) was to modern pop culture. Reality TV, I realized, was almost completely beholden to the Jekyll and Hyde concept, mining dramatic tension through the transformation of the seemingly sweet and innocent into the crazed and brazen. The only difference is that while Jekyll had to gulp down a mysterious potion to induce the emergence of the evil Hyde, Realty TV participants (unless swallowing worms, insects, and other verim on Fear Factor) need only to ingest the idea of fame, prizes, or a rich husband to become abhorrent creatures.
So Stevenson, through his great literary creation, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, lives on. The line – extending from his 19th century powdered pompadour, to Omarosa’s self-styled shag – firmly set. And like a novice guitarist groping for chords, I continue to reach out in the hope of securing my spot on the string.
Perhaps the next Stevenson book I’m reading, “Treasure Island,” will help me achieve this goal. I’m already feeling vibrations from its villian, the arch-pirate Long John Silver. But of course, it could just be hunger pangs. Because for some reason, each time I come across his name, I crave fried shrimp. Any idea why? – John McCaffrey
John McCaffrey, a Hoboken resident, is a frequent contributor of the Current. In 2004 he was nominated for a Pushcart Prize. He is currently at work on a novel.