Consider the Volley

By Adam Tramantano

Have you ever noticed that all volley sports sustain the volley by an active effort to cancel it out? This interesting sensible system is at the center of this archipelago of sixteen essays exploring the ways we make sense of things.

In the true spirit of an essayist, Adam Tramantano demonstrates stylistic dexterity exploring a range of topics from how to eat an Italian icy, to why pay phones were actually a luxury. At the center of these essays is the attempt to make sense of the ever-evasive act of how we make sense of things.

Tramantano does not want to drive home one grand theory. Explorative, playful, quotidian, surprisingly complex, Consider the Volley is an exultation of the essay. He argues we should stop watching awards shows, and stop giving so much attention to celebrities. He explores the human interference in public spaces. And he raises doubts about whether sharing is a virtue, whether charisma exists, and whether the volley is even a good example.

We are living in convergent times, confronted by constant encounters with what is sensible and what is not. We are constantly challenged to make sense of the insensible. While a grand theory of it all, placing meaning in perfect plots and categories might give us comfort and certitude, how we make sense of things is not so easily explained. Consider the Volley is a collection of sixteen essays that are like an archipelago. They have their own foundations, their own borders and harbors, but you can see one from the other. There is no one answer, but there's infinity in the exploration of possibilities.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Adam Tramantano
• Release date: Jul 5, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223706076

Book preview

Consider the Volley

How we Make Sense of Things

16 Essays

By Adam Tramantano

Copyright © 2023 by Adam Tramantano

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

CHAPTER ONE

Fictive Parameters

A three part introduction

Part I: the middle fingers incident

Here is the moment you’ve been waiting for: a man, probably in his 60’s, is in his car, waving two middle fingers at me. It is a narrow road on a very posh suburban street. This really is the kind of street they could film movies on.

For me, it serves as a lucky place for essayistic exemplification. You see, there is a road detour. The main road is being repaved. This road that we are on is only wide enough for two cars. There was a car parked on my side and I had already let several opposing cars go. And then I had my chance. As I began to pass the parked car, another opposing car came and had to back up. It was either me or this other car. But, had I backed up, I would have once again, let several other cars go.

At some point, it’s my turn, right? That sounds sensible enough.

The man in his 60’s waving his middle fingers at me was not driving the car that had to back up. He was several cars behind. As I drove slowly past, I was very surprised. And I think I even mouthed the words Who are you giving the finger to? as I drove past him. He kept his gaze on the spot that I was just in and continued rolling his hands over one another, but without the middle fingers up. I think he was pretending that he wasn’t giving me the finger—fingers actually.

I mouthed the words out of genuine surprise, not as a counter-challenge. It was surprising to me that, under those circumstances, he would give someone the finger.

To me, the finger is a rarely used response to someone already speaking to you. Also, it should probably take-place under the age of 20. I’ll get to that in the essay titled When to Give the Finger. But, more importantly, I was really surprised that this man, about 20 years older than me, did not see it the way I saw it.

Here’s how I saw it (and still see it, actually): we are all in this together. There is a bigger purpose at play: the main road is being repaved. Yes, consider this metaphorically too. In just a few days, we will all be gliding pleasurably down the smooth pavement. Until then, we have to be inconvenienced just a tad.

A couple of other details. The streets in this posh movie-perfect neighborhood: not intended for through traffic. Residents frequently put those plastic children and flags out in the street and signs urging us to drive slowly. The posted limit is 20 on these streets. I’m not looking to earn more scrupulous points, but I usually drive 15 in this area. There are often young kids riding bicycles or walking tiny dogs. And there are no sidewalks.

Under other circumstances, one might tell this story in order to position the man in his 60’s as a nasty curmudgeon. Indeed, I’ve heard many such you-won’t-believe-this-nasty-person stories. I’m not trying to do that. But I’m also not trying to understand him. Again, as far as I’m concerned, the middle finger is a response once you’ve already been communicated with. It is not an initiation of communication.

What I am trying to do here is to raise an instance in which I am certain that my notion of what is sensible is diametrically opposed to someone else’s. To me, we were all in this together. We all take turns. Maybe to him, I selfishly made a car back up and made four other cars wait so I could go. He had no idea that I just let four other cars go. Had I backed up, this would have turned into me letting nine cars go before my turn. Something’s got to give.

Again, I’m not trying to position myself as the right one here. I’m starting with an example that I know, on purpose, is very difficult to describe in words. It is very difficult to get a sense of.

Here are some other features: it was a sunny day. Beautiful. It was a curved road. I didn’t realize that there were other cars behind the one backing up for me until I was already passing them. So I also wondered if this man in his 60’s could see ahead too. Maybe he wasn’t giving the fingers to me, after all. It’s possible. That might explain why he seemed to pretend not to. Maybe they were intended for the cars in front of him. Maybe he was giving the fingers to the whole situation but his car happened to be facing mine as I slowly drove past him.

But those other explanations make as much sense as him giving me the fingers.

To me, none of it makes sense, really. The whole story is awkward and, I must admit, I somehow feel implicated even telling it. After it happened, I had the strange feeling that I did something wrong, even though I know I did everything right.

But how do I know that? It is partially through reasoning (see above, where I tried to make my case). But I’m interested in how we get there without playing through the reasoning in our minds. How is it that sometimes, we just know?

In this book, I want to explore what we think is sensible. I chose the word sensible not because it makes sense, but because it means so many things that I think are pertinent to the notions of perceiving, communicating, living, and making, well, making sense of things.

I don’t think being sensible is an absolute perception of reality. It is not about perceiving the way things are. Neither is it necessarily before thought or without thought, as in: intuitive. Neither is it absolute in the sense that it is in fact one thing. Instead, the language of assigning sensibility is really the phenomena. And so, an exploration of what is sensible warrants going through topics that might not seem to make sense in order to explore how the language of assigning sensibility transpires.

Part II: a game of kings

We are playing a game. The object is to name as many kings as possible without getting the information from anywhere else. But I want to give you a choice in how we will play this game. We can either have a five-minute session right now. Whoever names the most kings in five minutes wins. Or, we could meet up again in two weeks. We will present each other with a handwritten list of kings. We cannot look kings up or ask anyone during this time. And, if we inadvertently hear of a king mentioned, we must remove it from our list. However, we are free to think about this and add to our own lists whenever we want to.

Which game would you rather play?

I have another game option: let’s debate which of these games is better and why. If we explore these two games, side-by-side, we find vast differences in what they are demanding of us. One big difference is striking: the two-week game requires more trust. It is very difficult to cheat in the five-minute game. Assuming we are right in front of each other, we can easily tell if the other is gathering information from some un-allowed source. But over the course of two weeks, anything can happen. And yet, wouldn’t you admit that the two-week game sounds far more interesting? Are you willing to forego the possibility that I can easily cheat and easily win in order to play a much more interesting game?

This hypothetical example might illustrate something about competition. But more broadly it could illustrate something about what I call fictive parameters. These are the ideas that present a semblance of structure within the various activities we partake in.

More accurately, these are conceptual parameters. But notice what happens when they are called fictive: we can emphasize the fact that they are, after all, made up. The parameters are fiction in the same way that what happens in a novel is not real. I can show up to our two-week king challenge with a list of types of buttons. And you will say, but we said we were listing kings. And I say, but I have listed more types of buttons than you. We can then add a new rule: if you arbitrarily decide to think of something else other than kings, that too can be added to the list.

Is it my turn to go now that I’ve let four cars go? I think so. But that is based on fictive parameters. If I see you stay while another car backs up, causing a total of five cars to wait just for you, should I give you both fingers? Fictive parameters. There are these imaginary lines we draw, these ways in which we create conceptual structures that just exist as ways of making sense of the immediate.

And maybe you think: well, there is a right and wrong. You shouldn’t make five cars wait. Or, after you’ve let four cars go, it is your turn. The actual parameters of the situation are not up for debate: