slapped faces, and the occasional suicide.
The Quadrants of the Squared Circle, like all middle-status clubs, were anxious to recruit high-quality new members, but even more anxious to exclude outsiders, schmeltzers and bounders.
For Jaro it came as a surprise and a shock to learn that both his beloved foster parents and he himself were considered “nimps.” Jaro was shamed and indignant. Hilyer only laughed. “It makes no difference to us. It’s not important! Is it fair? Probably not, but what of that? According to Baron Bodissey: ‘Only losers cry out for fair play.’ ” [7]
To this day the most erudite thinkers of the Gaean Reach ponder the significance of the remark.
Jaro quickly learned that, like Hilyer and Althea, he had no inclination for social striving. At Langolen School he was neither gregarious nor socially aggressive; he took no part in group activities and competed in no sports or games. Such conduct was not admired, and Jaro made few friends. When it became known that his parents were nimps and when he showed no comporture of his own, he became even more isolated, despite his neat garments and well-scrubbed appearance. In the classroom, however, he excelled, so that his instructors considered him almost on a par with the notorious Skirlet Hutsenreiter, whose intellectual prowess was the talk of the school, as were her haughty and imperious mannerisms. Skirlet was a year or two younger than Jaro: a slender erect little creature so strongly charged with intelligence and vitality that, in the words of the school nurse, she “gave off blue sparks in the dark.” Skirlet carried herself like a boy, though she was clearly a girl, and far from ill-favored. A cap of thick dark hair clasped her face; eyes of a particularly luminous gray looked from under fine black eyebrows; flat cheeks slanted down to a small decisive chin, with a stern little nose and a wide mercurial mouth above. Skirlet seemed to lack personal vanity, and she dressed so simply that her instructors sometimes wondered as to the solicitude of her parents—all the more surprising, since her father was the Honorable Clois Hutsenreiter, Dean of the College of Philosophy at the Institute, a transworld financier, purportedly of great wealth, and—more importantly—a Clam Muffin, at the very apex of the status pyramid. And her mother, Espeine? Here there seemed to be hints, if not of scandal, at least of some high-status irregularity, very spicy, if the gossip could be believed. Skirlet’s mother now resided in a splendid palace on the world Marmone, where she was Princess of the Dawn. How and why this should be no one seemed to know, or dared to ask.
Skirlet made no attempt to gain the approval of her classmates. Some of the boys grumbled that she was sexless, cold as a dead fish, because she ignored their routines. During the lunch period, Skirlet often went out to sit on the terrace, where she would attract a group of acquaintances. On these occasions, Skirlet was sometimes gracious, sometimes moody, and sometimes she would jump to her feet and walk away. In the classroom she tended to complete her work with insulting facility; then, flinging down her stylus, she would look around at the other students with patronizing amusement. She also had the unsettling habit of glancing up sharply should the instructor carelessly make a mistake, or indulge in some lame facetiousness. The instructors were nonplussed, especially since Skirlet never spoke with other than cool politeness. In the end they treated her with wary respect. When they gathered in the faculty lounge during the lunch hour, Skirlet often came under discussion. Some disliked her with bitterness and spite; others were more temperate, and pointed out that she was still barely adolescent, with small experience of the world. Mr. Ollard, the erudite sociology instructor, analyzed Skirlet in terms of psychological imperatives: “She’s intellectually vain and even intolerant—to a
The Quadrants of the Squared Circle, like all middle-status clubs, were anxious to recruit high-quality new members, but even more anxious to exclude outsiders, schmeltzers and bounders.
For Jaro it came as a surprise and a shock to learn that both his beloved foster parents and he himself were considered “nimps.” Jaro was shamed and indignant. Hilyer only laughed. “It makes no difference to us. It’s not important! Is it fair? Probably not, but what of that? According to Baron Bodissey: ‘Only losers cry out for fair play.’ ” [7]
To this day the most erudite thinkers of the Gaean Reach ponder the significance of the remark.
Jaro quickly learned that, like Hilyer and Althea, he had no inclination for social striving. At Langolen School he was neither gregarious nor socially aggressive; he took no part in group activities and competed in no sports or games. Such conduct was not admired, and Jaro made few friends. When it became known that his parents were nimps and when he showed no comporture of his own, he became even more isolated, despite his neat garments and well-scrubbed appearance. In the classroom, however, he excelled, so that his instructors considered him almost on a par with the notorious Skirlet Hutsenreiter, whose intellectual prowess was the talk of the school, as were her haughty and imperious mannerisms. Skirlet was a year or two younger than Jaro: a slender erect little creature so strongly charged with intelligence and vitality that, in the words of the school nurse, she “gave off blue sparks in the dark.” Skirlet carried herself like a boy, though she was clearly a girl, and far from ill-favored. A cap of thick dark hair clasped her face; eyes of a particularly luminous gray looked from under fine black eyebrows; flat cheeks slanted down to a small decisive chin, with a stern little nose and a wide mercurial mouth above. Skirlet seemed to lack personal vanity, and she dressed so simply that her instructors sometimes wondered as to the solicitude of her parents—all the more surprising, since her father was the Honorable Clois Hutsenreiter, Dean of the College of Philosophy at the Institute, a transworld financier, purportedly of great wealth, and—more importantly—a Clam Muffin, at the very apex of the status pyramid. And her mother, Espeine? Here there seemed to be hints, if not of scandal, at least of some high-status irregularity, very spicy, if the gossip could be believed. Skirlet’s mother now resided in a splendid palace on the world Marmone, where she was Princess of the Dawn. How and why this should be no one seemed to know, or dared to ask.
Skirlet made no attempt to gain the approval of her classmates. Some of the boys grumbled that she was sexless, cold as a dead fish, because she ignored their routines. During the lunch period, Skirlet often went out to sit on the terrace, where she would attract a group of acquaintances. On these occasions, Skirlet was sometimes gracious, sometimes moody, and sometimes she would jump to her feet and walk away. In the classroom she tended to complete her work with insulting facility; then, flinging down her stylus, she would look around at the other students with patronizing amusement. She also had the unsettling habit of glancing up sharply should the instructor carelessly make a mistake, or indulge in some lame facetiousness. The instructors were nonplussed, especially since Skirlet never spoke with other than cool politeness. In the end they treated her with wary respect. When they gathered in the faculty lounge during the lunch hour, Skirlet often came under discussion. Some disliked her with bitterness and spite; others were more temperate, and pointed out that she was still barely adolescent, with small experience of the world. Mr. Ollard, the erudite sociology instructor, analyzed Skirlet in terms of psychological imperatives: “She’s intellectually vain and even intolerant—to a
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